Fenwick's Career

by Mrs. Humphry Ward

Fenwick had turned pale. With his painter's imagination he saw the thing—the bestial man outside, the winter night, the slender form within pressing against the door and the bolt—

'Look here,' he said, abruptly. 'We can't have this. Somebody must sleep here. Did you tell the police?'

'Yes, I wrote—to Ambleside. They sent a man over to see me. But they couldn't catch him. He's probably left the country. I got a bell'—she opened her eyes, and pointed to it. 'If I rang it, they might hear it down at Brow Farm. They might—if the wind was that way.'

There was silence a moment. Then Fenwick stooped and kissed her.

'Poor old girl!' he said, softly. She made but slight response. He returned to his place, repeating with a frowning energy—'You must have some one to sleep here.'

'Daisy would come—if I'd pay her.'

Daisy was their little servant of the summer, the daughter of a quarryman near by.

'Well, pay her!'

She drew herself up sharply. 'I haven't got the money—and you always say, when you write, you haven't any either.'

'I'll find some for that. I can't have you scared like this.'