That left Mary face to face with the night; with the long hours of darkness, which inaction must render infinitely worse than those of the day. She had visions of the windswept park, the sullen ponds, the frozen moorland; they spread before her fraught with some brooding terror. She had never much marked, she had seldom felt the loneliness of the house. Now it pressed itself upon her, isolated her, menaced her. It made the thought of the night, that lay before her, almost unbearable.
CHAPTER XXVII
A FOOTSTEP IN THE HALL
Mrs. Toft bringing in candles, and looking grave enough herself, noticed the girl’s pale face and chid her gently. “I don’t believe that you’ve sat down this blessed day, Miss!” she said. “Nor no more than looked at good food. But tea you shall have and sit down to it, or my name’s not Anne Toft! Fretting’s no manner of use, and fasting’s a poor stick to beat trouble with!”
“But, Mrs. Toft,” Mary said, her face piteous, “it’s the thought that he may be lying out there, helpless and dying, while we sit here——”
“Steady, Miss! Giving way does no good, and too much mind’s worse than none. If he’s out there he’s gone, poor gentleman, long ago. And Dr. Pepper’ll say the same. It’s not in reason he should be alive if he’s in the open. And, God knows, if he’s under cover it’s little better.”
“But then if he is alive!” Mary cried. “Think of another night!”
“Ay, I know,” Mrs. Toft said. “And hard it is! But you’ve been a model all this blessed day, and it’s no time to break down now. Where that dratted doctor is, beats me, though he could do no more than we’ve done! But there, Mr. Basset will be with us to-morrow, and he’ll find the poor gentleman dead or alive! There’s some as are more to look at than the Squire, but there’s few I’d put before him at a pinch!”
“Where’s Toft?” Mary asked.
“He went to join Petch two hours ago,” Mrs. Toft explained. “And there again, take Toft. He’s a good husband, but there’s no one would say he was a man to wear his heart outside. But you saw how hard he took it? I don’t know,” Mrs. Toft continued thoughtfully, “as I’ve seen Toft shed a tear these twenty years—no, nor twice since we went to church!”
“You don’t think,” Mary asked, “that he knows more than he has told us?”