“Oh!” Evelyn was so startled in her breathless expectancy that she could scarcely answer this, which was half a disappointment and more than half a relief. There are moments when a brief postponement, even of the thing we most desire, is a certain ease to the strained faculties. She asked at what time Eddy would be visible and went away, turning towards Kensington Gardens, where she thought she might be able to spend the time until she must return. The park, of course, was empty, and though Kensington Gardens had still that cheerful number of comers and goers, which marks the vicinity of a district in which people live the whole year round, it was not otherwise than a place of “retired leisure” as it generally is. She walked up and down under the tall, bare trees, which stood about like ghosts in the yellow atmosphere, and sat down here and there and waited, looking at her watch from time to time, looking at the groups of children, and the old people and young girls who were taking their morning walk, and who looked at her with not much less curiosity than a stranger unknown calls forth in a village. She was not one of the habitués, and perhaps, she thought, some sense of the tumult in her soul might have stolen into the calm foggy air around her, and startled the quiet promenaders with a consciousness of an uneasy spirit in their midst. She would not have been remarked in the adjoining park, where uneasy spirits abound, and all kinds of strange meetings, interviews, and revolutions take place. When she had waited as she thought long enough, she went back again to Blank Street. “Oh, it’s you again, Miss,” said the old woman. “Master Edward’s gone—I forgot to tell him as some one had been here; and he went out in a hurry, for he was going out to ‘is breakfast. I’m sure, Miss, I’m very sorry I forgot; but he wouldn’t have paid no attention, he was in such a hurry to get away.”
Evelyn pressed her hands tightly together, as if she had been pressing her heart between them. She ceased to feel the relief: the sickening suspense and delay made the light for a moment swim in her eyes.
“I am very anxious to see him,” she said. “At what time will he return?”
“Oh, Miss, I can’t tell,” said the old woman. “Sometimes he’ll come in to dress for dinner, sometimes not. I does for them in other ways, but not cooking, except just a cup of tea.”
“At what time,” said Evelyn; “six or seven? tell me! I am very anxious to see him.”
“Well, Miss, it’s just a chance,” the caretaker said.
And with this she was dismissed to wait the live-long day, with nothing to do, in that forced inaction which is the most miserable of all things. I do not know a more dreadful ordeal to go through than to go to a strange place upon one special mission, which is your only errand there, and not to be able to accomplish it, and to have a whole dreary day to get over in forced patience, until you can try again. Mrs. Rowland went back to the hotel, and spent the greater part of the day staring through the window, with some sort of hope that she might see Eddy’s face, and be able to rush after him, and stop him in the midst of the crowd. At six o’clock she went back, and at seven, and at eight, walking about and about in the intervals, so as to keep the door in sight: but nobody came. It was not any attempt on Eddy’s part to elude her, for he did not know anything about her. He did not come home on that evening to dine, that was all. The next day she waited until a later hour before she went. Alas! he had gone out earlier on that particular morning! The old woman had said that a lady from Scotland had been inquiring for him; but he had flung away with a contemptuous outcry “Confound all ladies from Scotland!” which Mrs. Jones was too polite to repeat. In the evening Evelyn had no better luck; but she left her card with an entreaty pencilled upon it that he would come to see her in her hotel, and sat through the evening watching for every step. But no one came. The third day was the day on which she ought to have gone home; but it was impossible to go away now leaving this quest unaccomplished, whatever might happen. She wrote a hurried letter to her husband explaining something, though not all, and with a determined resolve that this day should not pass in the same inactivity, went out again. The old woman received her like an old acquaintance. “He’s in, Miss, but he’s in bed,” she said. Evelyn stepped quickly into the house. “I must see him,” she said. “Lawks, Miss!” said the woman, “you won’t go up to a young gentleman in his bedroom.” Evelyn only repeated “I must must see him.” She did not perceive an air of greater bustle and movement about the house. What was it to her who was there, if she could but see Eddy?
“My good woman,” she said, “my business is very important. Mr. Saumarez has just left my house in the country, and something has happened that may hurt him—that may most seriously hurt him. Show me where his room is: I will take the responsibility on myself.”
“Oh, Miss, it isn’t my place to show in a lady. I couldn’t do it; I daren’t do it: and you’re too nice and too respectable for such a thing—oh, lady!” cried the old woman, as the visitor went on passing her. Evelyn met a man-servant on the stairs with a cup of soup in his hand. Except that he was a servant, and in a dark livery, she made no other note in respect to him. She said in the calm of the excitement which had now taken hold of her like a giant, “Tell me which is Mr. Edward’s room?”
“Mr. Edward’s room?—he is not up, madam,” said the man.