She was silent for a time, not making any reply, her anger not increased, as he thought it would be: for, indeed, her mind was too full to be affected by things which at ordinary times would have moved her much.
‘And so,’ she said, after a time, ‘that was how he found you out. I will not call it fate—it seems like God. And yet, for such a childish, small offence, it was a dreadful penalty. Poor boy! you thought to revenge yourself a little more on me—and instead you have brought upon your own head—this——’
In the silence that followed—for what could John reply?—there came a slight intrusion of sound from the house. Some one went out or came in downstairs, a simple sound, such as in the natural state of affairs would not even have roused any attention. It awakened all the smouldering panic in Mrs. Sandford’s face. She started, and caught John by the arm.
‘What’s that? What’s that? It is some one coming—he is coming back.’
‘No, mother. It is the people below.’
‘Where is he?’ she cried, huskily, recovering herself, yet not loosing John’s arm. ‘Where is he? Where does he live?—not here, don’t say he is here.’
‘I don’t know where he lives. He has never told me, and he left no message, no address.’
‘No address,’ she said. ‘You don’t know where he lives, to stop him, but he knows where you live, to hold you in his power. I will meet him in the face when I go out from your door.’
The horror in her looks was so great that John tried to soothe her.
‘There is no reason to fear that. He went away, though I had asked them to wait. Perhaps he will come no more.’