He awoke with a start, and found that it was broad daylight. The fire was out, the rain had ceased to fall, and the morning sun was creeping in at the windows. He looked round, and saw that he was still alone. He went into Matt’s room—it was empty. She had not returned.
He was now filled with vague uneasiness. He made up a bit of fire, and was about to issue forth again in search of the truant, when all further trouble was saved him—the door opened, and Matt herself appeared.
She seemed almost as much disturbed as William Jones himself. Her face was very pale, her hair wild, her dress in great disorder. She started on seeing him; then, assuming rather a devil-may-care look, she lounged in.
“You’re up early, William Jones,” she said.
“Yes, I am up early,” he replied gruffly; “’cause why?—’cause I ain’t been to bed. And where have you been—jest you tell me that.”
“Why,—I’ve been out, of course!” returned the girl defiantly.
“That won’t do, Matt,” returned William Jones. “Come, you’ll jest tell me where you’ve been. You ain’t been out all night for nothing.”
The girl gave him a look half of defiance, half of curiosity; then she threw herself down, rather than sat, upon a chair.
“I’m tired, I am,” she said; “and hungry, and cold!”
“Will you tell me where you’ve been, Matt?” cried William Jones, trembling with suspicious alarm.