“She—loved him still?”
“No, hated him then. But the old heart-wound would break out during sleep. His music, as she called it, came to her through her dreams. Then she answered what she believed to be—his call.”
A little wind came winding down the Vale and wrapped its chilly arm about us. She said, very low: “That was what I meant, partly, when I spoke of lost innocence a little while ago. I have changed toward people since I came here. I think I can never trust a person again.” Then quickly, “We must go in. They’ll be wanting to know I’m safe.”
I followed where she made a road through the darkness.
We reached the House at seven-fifteen. At the bottom of the stairs she turned. “Thank you—thank you more than I can say. May I have the campstool? I must go up now, really. I—I—have to—think over to-night.”
I handed over the stool. “If ever—” I commenced, feeling my voice shake in my throat.
The boy Toby, his hair all on end as usual, crossed the corridor from the dinner-room to the Hall. She called his name, and the lad reappeared, coming toward us bashfully. His eyes, turned on her, were filled with something like awe, and I remembered how she had made this seemingly lumpish lad her excellent and devoted scholar. He now carried a few yards of insulated wire.
“Has Superintendent Salt returned?”
“Yes, from the hills, Miss. He came back early, but he’s gone away again.”
“Did he leave any message?”