"And who's to sit up for you?" demanded Aaron. "I shan't. It's a'most ten o'clock now."
"Nobody need sit up," returned Dorothy, trying to be brave, her fears all alert for her beloved grandson. "I'll take the key of the side-door, and let myself in. Please mind you don't bolt and bar it."
She put on her bonnet and shawl, took the key, and departed with Mrs. Tilney. When they reached the lodge, Hubert was not there. He must have gone out during Hannah Tilney's absence. The children were long ago abed and asleep.
"He goes out a deal at night," Hannah remarked, "and walks about the park. My husband sees him pacing away there as swift as a windmill. We think he does it by way of exercise, sitting so much over his accounts in the day."
"But he oughtn't to go out when he has got a sore throat," said Dorothy, untying her bonnet as she sat down in the kitchen to wait. "He was always venturesome."
Meanwhile Miss Winter and Mrs. Toynbee returned home, and were admitted by Aaron. He said nothing about his wife's being out.
"You can all go to bed," Miss Winter said to him. "We shall want nothing more to-night."
And accordingly the household did go, Aaron included. Miss Winter's maid had retired early in the evening. She had a very bad cold, and was ordered by her mistress not to sit up.
Taking off their fleecy wraps, the two ladies drew up to the fire in the sitting-room, and prepared for a cosey half-hour's chat. Neither felt sleepy, or in the least inclined for bed. Falling into an animated discussion of present matters and future plans, the time passed swiftly and unheedingly.
More swiftly than it did for Dorothy at the lodge. Hubert did not come in: the hands of the clock, ticking over the kitchen mantelpiece, drew gradually very near to midnight.