"Hush, Maude! Run back."
It was time to run; and Mrs. Chattaway spoke the words in startled tones. The master's heavy footstep was heard crossing the hall. Maude stole back, and Mrs. Chattaway passed into her dressing-room.
She sat down on a chair, and pressed her hands upon her bosom to still its beating. Her suspense and agitation were terrible. A sensitive nature, such as Mrs. Chattaway's, feels emotion in a most painful degree. Every sense was strung to its utmost tension. She listened for Rupert's footfall outside; waited with a sort of horror for the ringing of the house-bell announcing his arrival, her whole frame sick and faint.
At last one came running up the avenue at a fleet pace, and the echoes of the bell were heard resounding through the house.
Not daring to defy her husband by going down to let him in she knocked at his door and entered.
"Shall I go down and open the door, James?"
"No."
"It is only five minutes past the half-hour."
"Five minutes are the same in effect as five hours," answered Mr. Chattaway. "Unless he can be in before the half-hour, he does not come in at all."
"It may be Cris," she resumed.