"Ah! there is Alan!" cried Mrs. Fountain.
The Squire came in tired and mud-stained. Even his hair shone with rain, and his clothes were wet through.
"I must not come too near you," he said, standing beside the door.
Mrs. Fountain bade him dress, get some dinner, and come back to her. As she spoke, she saw him peering through the shadows of the room. She too looked round. Laura was gone.
"At the first sound of his step!" thought Augustina. And she wept a little, but so secretly that even Sister Rosa did not discover it. Her ambition—her poor ambition—was for herself alone. What chance had it?—alas! Never since Stephen's death surely had Augustina seen Laura shed such tears as she had shed the night before. But no words, no promises—nothing! And where, now, was any sign of it?
She drew out her beads for comfort. And so, sighing and praying, she fell asleep.
* * * * *
After supper Helbeck was in the hall smoking. He was half abashed that he should find so much comfort in his pipe, and that he should dread so much the prospect of giving it up.
His thoughts, however, were black enough—black as the windy darkness outside.
A step on the stairs—at which his breath leapt. Miss Fountain, in her white evening dress, was descending.