"Master Quinton Edge," supplied Esmay, and thereupon silence fell between them.
The minutes passed away. Then, suddenly, Esmay stopped in her monotonous pacing of the room and flung herself on her knees by her sister's chair.
"You goose!" she exclaimed, with tender suspicion. "I believe you have been crying."
"Not a bit of it," returned Nanna, sitting bolt upright and staring hard at the ceiling. "I only want you to be sure and let me know before you go. Or couldn't you take me with you?" she added, wistfully, as though the idea had but just occurred to her.
"Why, Nanna, as though I could have dreamed of anything else! Go without you! Don't you see yourself how ridiculous that would be?"
"Then nothing else matters," said Nanna, comfortably, and openly wiped her eyes. "When do you want to go—to-night?"
"Foolish one! But then you love me, and I can forgive you. Now let me be quiet; I want to think out my—our plan."
Nanna left the room softly. Esmay sat looking into the fire, her small, firm chin propped in her palm. So violent was the storm that she did not hear the opening and closing of the street-door, but the flickering of the lamp in the swirl of a current from the outer air warned her that she had a visitor. She recognized him instantly as he came forward, his laced hat in the hollow of his arm. There was no one in Doom besides Master Quinton Edge who bowed with so easy a grace—a woman has a quick eye for such trifles.
"You are Esmay, daughter of Mad Scarlett," he began, gently. "My intrusion is unseasonable, perhaps, but none the less unavoidable."
The girl made no answer.