"And you?" he said.
"I cannot," I answered, shaking my head.
After he had gone I stood a while in the shadow on the far side of the court, listening to the clatter of knives and dishes, the cheerful hum of the servants as they called to one another, the hurrying footsteps of the maids. A dog crept out, and licked my hand as it hung nerveless by my side. Surely Martin or Baldwin would overtake them. Or if not, it still was not so easy to take a girl abroad against her will.
But would that be his plan? He must have hiding-places in England to which he might take her, telling her any wild story of her father's death or flight, or even perhaps of her own danger if her whereabouts were known. I had had experience of his daring, his cunning, his plausibility. Had he not taken in all with whom he had come into contact, except, by some strange fate, myself. To be sure Anne was not altogether without feeling or conscience. But she was his--his entirely, body and soul. Yes, if I could have followed, I could have borne it better. It was this dreadful inaction which was killing me.
The bustle and voices of the servants, who were in high spirits, so irritated me at last that I wandered away, going first to the dark, silent gardens, where I walked up and down in a fever of doubt and fear, much as I had done on the last evening I had spent at Coton. Then a fancy seized me, and turning from the fish-pond I walked toward the house. Crossing the moat I made for the church door and tried it. It was unlocked. I went in. Here at least in the sacred place I should find quietness; and unable to help myself in this terrible crisis, might get help from One to whom my extremity was but an opportunity.
I walked up the aisle and, finding all in darkness, the moon at the moment being obscured, felt my way as far as Sir Piers' flat monument, and sat down upon it. I had been there scarcely a minute when a faint sound, which seemed rather a sigh or an audible shudder than any articulate word, came out of the darkness in front of me. My great trouble had seemed to make superstitious fears for the time impossible, but at this sound I started and trembled; and holding my breath felt a cold shiver run down my back. Motionless I peered before me, and yet could see nothing. All was gloom, the only distinguishable feature being the east window.
What was that? A soft rustle as of ghostly garments moving in the aisle was succeeded by another sigh which made me rise from my seat, my hair stiffening. Then I saw the outline of the east window growing brighter and brighter, and I knew that the moon was about to shine clear of the clouds, and longed to turn and fly, yet did not dare to move.
Suddenly the light fell on the altar steps and disclosed a kneeling form which seemed to be partly turned toward me as though watching me. The face I could not see--it was in shadow--and I stood transfixed, gazing at the figure, half in superstitious terror and half in wonder; until a voice I had not heard for years, and yet should have known among a thousand, said softly, "Francis!"
"Who calls me?" I muttered hoarsely, knowing and yet disbelieving, hoping and yet with a terrible fear at heart.
"It is I, Petronilla!" said the same voice gently. And then the form rose and glided toward me through the moonlight. "It is I, Petronilla. Do you not know me?" said my love again; and fell upon my breast.