ter, the young doctor. He hovered about the table with eager looks;
he discovered what Teresa needed, as soon as she found it out for
herself, and darted forward to help. When she moved, his eyes followed
her; when she spoke, he was all ears; and once, turning from the tea
table, the young fellow knitted his brows, and stared fixedly into
Peignton's face.--"What does she see in _You_?"--said that look as
plainly as words could speak, and Dane, knowing himself to look weary
and absent, felt an answering sympathy.

He roused himself to take part in the conversation, and for the rest of
the evening was careful not to relapse into silence, but the whole thing
was like a dream, a dull, long-drawn-out dream which had no connection
with life. He was moving as in a dream, speaking with forced, unnatural
words, but presently he would awake. All day long the sense of waiting
was upon him, of doing time until a a certain period was reached. If
this sort of thing were to continue, it would be unbearable, but it
would not continue. There was a limit to his endurance. In a few days,
in a week at longest, Cassandra would be home again, and they would
meet! The sense of waiting grew stronger...

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

A CROWDED HOUR.

An interminable period seemed to elapse before Peignton heard the news
for which he was waiting.

He had received one or two post-card bulletins from Grizel, and knew
that the shock of the accident had left no lasting effect on Cassandra,
but it was not until the morning of the tenth day that he heard of her
arrival at the Court. His informant was a workman on the place, who
mentioned having seen her ladyship driving, as a proof of that more
interesting event, the Squire's return.

The natural enquiry, "How did she look?" could, of course, not be asked
under the circumstances, but Peignton knew that it would be impossible
to exist for another twenty-four hours without settling that question
for himself. If he had been asked what plans were in his mind he would
have replied that he had none, yet deeply, subconsciously, during every
one of those long ten days a plan had been shaping. When he left the
house after lunch that afternoon, he knew exactly where he was going,
and although he might delude himself that he was following a sudden
impulse, it would have been in just that direction that he would have
directed his steps on any one of the previous days.

Half an hour's brisk walking