They retraced their steps, the tender hoar-frost taking the imprint of their feet, while two stars in the Twins looked down upon their two persons through the trees, as if those two persons could bear some sort of comparison with them. On the tower the instructions were given. When all was over, and he was again conducting her to the Great House she said—
‘When can you start?’
‘Now,’ said Swithin.
‘So much the better. You shall go up by the night mail.’
V
On the third morning after the young man’s departure Lady Constantine opened the post-bag anxiously. Though she had risen before four o’clock, and crossed to the tower through the gray half-light when every blade and twig were furred with rime, she felt no languor. Expectation could banish at cock-crow the eye-heaviness which apathy had been unable to disperse all the day long.
There was, as she had hoped, a letter from Swithin St. Cleeve.
‘Dear Lady Constantine,—I have quite succeeded in my mission, and shall return to-morrow at 10 p.m. I hope you have not failed in the observations. Watching the star through an opera-glass Sunday night, I fancied some change had taken place, but I could not make myself sure. Your memoranda for that night I await with impatience. Please don’t neglect to write down at the moment, all remarkable appearances both as to colour and intensity; and be very exact as to time, which correct in the way I showed you.—I am, dear Lady Constantine, yours most faithfully,
Swithin St. Cleeve.’
Not another word in the letter about his errand; his mind ran on nothing but this astronomical subject. He had succeeded in his mission, and yet he did not even say yes or no to the great question,—whether or not her husband was masquerading in London at the address she had given.
‘Was ever anything so provoking!’ she cried.