The scene was prolonged but came to an end at last; all such scenes do, it is to be hoped; and the afternoon went on. Mr. Chattaway went out again, Cris had not come in, Miss Diana and the girls did not return, and Mrs. Chattaway and Maude were still alone. "I shall go down to see him, Maude," the former said in low tones, breaking an unhappy silence. "And I shall take him something to eat; I will risk it. He has had nothing from us to-day."
Maude scarcely knew what to answer: her own fright was not yet over. Mrs. Chattaway dressed herself, took the little provision-basket and went out. It was all but dark; the evening was gloomy. Meeting no one, she gained the lodge, opened its door with a quick hand, and——stole away again silently and swiftly, with perhaps greater terror than she had ever felt rushing over her heart.
For the first figure she saw there was that of her husband, and the first voice she heard was his. She made her way amidst the trunks of the almost leafless trees, and concealed herself as she best could.
In returning that evening, it had struck Mr. Chattaway as he passed the lodge that he could not do better than favour old Canham with a piece of his mind, and forbid him, under pain of instant dismissal, to rob the Hold (as he phrased it) of so much as a scrap of bread. Old Canham, knowing what was at stake, took it patiently, never denying that the food (which Mr. Chattaway enlarged upon) might have been meant for him. Ann Canham stood against Rupert's door, shivering and shaking; and poor Rupert himself, who had not failed to recognise that loud voice, lay as one in agony.
Mr. Chattaway was in the midst of his last sentence, when the front-door was suddenly opened, and as suddenly shut again. He had his back to it, but turned just in time to catch a glimpse of somebody's petticoats before the door closed.
It was a somewhat singular proceeding, and Mr. Chattaway, always curious and suspicious, opened the door after a minute's pause, and looked out. He could see no one. He looked up the avenue, he looked down; he stepped out to the gate, and gazed up and down the road. Whoever it was had disappeared.
"Did you see who it was opened the door in that manner?" he demanded of old Canham.
Old Canham had stood deferentially during the lecture, leaning on his stick. He had not seen who it was, and therefore could answer readily, but he strongly suspected it to be Mrs. Chattaway. "Maybe 'twas some woman bringing sewing up for Ann, Squire. They mostly comes at dusk, not to hinder their own work."
"Then why couldn't they come in?" retorted Mr. Chattaway. "Why need they run away as if caught at some mischief?"
Old Canham wisely declined an answer: and Mr. Chattaway, after a parting admonition, finally quitted the lodge, and took his way towards the Hold. But for her dark attire, and the darker shades of evening, he might have detected his wife there, watching for him to pass.