“The attic door is open—there is no one in the hall.”
Then did the post seem suddenly alive, for a hand caught hers, and a voice full of love and gratitude said in her ear:—
“God bless you! Good-by.”
Ten minutes later, trying the attic door, she found it locked from within; and, leaving Mary in the hands of the maid, she went down the stair with a light heart, for the day’s trials were over at last, and she might cease to wrack her brain for expedients and deceptions. Other guests had followed Barry, and the house was soon full of echoing laughter and snatches of song, with the low hum of conversation, like the ripple of a brook, running ceaselessly underneath the lighter sounds.
As soon as Joscelyn laid eyes on Eustace she knew something was amiss, and he was not long in letting her know what it was, upbraiding her bitterly for her cruel speech of last night.
“You were not content that those rude men were searching her house, but must add to her humiliation. What demon of cruelty possessed you?”
“It was the meanest thing I ever did,” she said, with something like a sob; “and, Eustace, if you can only get Betty to forgive me, there is nothing I will not do for you.”
“Small chance I have to win forgiveness for you or favour for myself,” he answered gloomily. “I wish I had been here last night; she should have known she had at least one friend, though I lost my commission by it. Only once have I seen her, and then but for ten minutes, with her mother freezing the life out of us with her cold stare.”
“If I arrange a meeting between this and your departure, will you spare a few moments from your wooing to plead for me?”
“Yes; but can you do it?”