It was in the grey time of dawn. She trembled in a sweat of disquiet, and not being able to endure the thought of her brother being asleep, she went and tapped at his door.
‘Owen!’
He was not a heavy sleeper, and it was verging upon his time to rise.
‘What do you want, Cytherea?’
‘I ought not to have left Knapwater last night. I wish I had not. I really think I will start at once. She wants me, I know.’
‘What time is it?’
‘A few minutes past four.’
‘You had better not. Keep to the time agreed upon. Consider, we should have such a trouble in rousing the driver, and other things.’
Upon the whole it seemed wiser not to act on a mere fancy. She went to bed again.
An hour later, when Owen was thinking of getting up, a knocking came to the front door. The next minute something touched the glass of Owen’s window. He waited—the noise was repeated. A little gravel had been thrown against it to arouse him.