She stood there, with the firelight playing on her dark loose-sleeved mantle, the hood that surrounded her head, her pale face a little flushed, and her black steady eyes. Her breath came quickly between her parted lips.
Ralph stared at her, dazed by the shock, still gripping the bundle of papers. She moved forward a step; and the spell snapped.
“Mistress Beatrice,” he said.
“I have come,” she said; “what is it? You want me?”
She came round the table, with an air of eager expectancy.
“I—I did not know,” said Ralph.
“But you wanted me. What is the matter? I heard you call.”
Ralph stared again, bewildered.
“Call?” he said.
“Yes, I heard you. I was in my room at my aunt’s house—ah! a couple of hours ago. You called me twice. ‘Beatrice! Beatrice!’ Then—then they told me what had happened about my Lord Essex.”