'He won't be long,' said Lindsay, 'Harry always keeps to his time,' and then he began his stories. I'm afraid I don't remember what they were. There were a great many 'you see's' and 'and so's,' but at another time I daresay I would have found them interesting.
He was just in the middle of one, about a trick some of the boys had played an undermaster at their school, when I heard the front door open quietly and steps cross the hall. The steps were of more than one person, though no one was speaking.
'Stop, Lindsay,' I said, and I sat bolt up in my chair and listened.
Whoever it was had gone into the drawing-room. Then some one came out again and crossed to the kitchen.
'Can it be Harry?' I said.
'There's some one with him if it is,' said Lindsay.
I felt myself growing white, and Lindsay grew red with sympathy. He is a very feeling boy. But we both sat quite still. Then the door opened gently, and some one looked in, but it wasn't Harry, it was Kezia.
'Miss Helena, my love,' she said, 'there's some one in the drawing-room who wants to see you.'
'Who is it?' I asked, breathlessly, but my old nurse shook her head.
'You'll see,' she said.