But she was naturally a brave woman, notwithstanding all her timidity; yes, a dauntless creature, whose generous blood was sure to rise before wrong and danger.
She shook of the slavish terror which threatened to overcome her altogether, and set herself to her next course of action.
"And now for my night's work," she said, glancing round the room, where a fire burned redly in the grate, and the ghostly December day faded from point to point.
She quietly made arrangements against being interrupted; rang the bell, and called to the maid through the door that she had retired for the night, and did not wish any dinner, except a cup of strong coffee, which should be brought to her by the housekeeper.
Then she carefully locked her window, and closed the massive mahogany shutters, lit her candles, drew her writing-table before the fire, swept the hearth, and saw that she had a supply of candles, matches, and pens.
By the time these arrangements were completed, the housekeeper was knocking at the door with the edge of a lunch-tray.
"Has Colonel Brand left the house?" called Margaret.
"Yes, miss, some time ago."
"Are you sure he's not lurking about your back, Mrs. Chetwode?"
"Holy mercy! I hope not."