e tenor of his thought--of his
self-excusing, it might be. He bade her good-night again, somewhat
timidly. Surely, he thought, it was her place to make remark, if remark
were needful; but she stood there silent till he had gone back into the
room. Then she shut the kitchen door.

In a little while, however, as stillness reigned in the house, some
presentiment of evil made him think it would be as well to go and see if
Mrs. Martha had finished trying on her finery and gone to bed as usual.
He found the kitchen dark and empty. He went to the foot of her stairs.
There was no chink of light showing from her room. The stillness of the
place entered into his mind as the thin edge of a wedge of alarm. "Mrs.
Martha!" he called in sonorous voice. "Mrs. Martha!" But no one
answered. He opened the back-door, and swept the dark garden with the
light of his lamp, but she was not there. Lamp in hand, he went
upstairs, and passed rapidly through the different rooms. As he entered
the less frequented ones, he began to fear almost as much to see the
gaily-attired figure as he would have done to see a ghost. He did not
know why this feeling crept over him, but, whether he feared or hoped to
see her, he did not. The house was empty, save for himself. The night
blast beat upon it. The darkness outside was rife with storm, but into
it the old woman must have gone in her festal array.

CHAPTER XX.

Trenholme went out on the verandah. At first, in the night, he saw
nothing but the shadowy forms of the college building and of the trees
upon the road. It was not raining at the moment, but the wind made it
hard to catch any sound continuously. He thought he heard talking of
more than one voice, he could not tell where. Then he heard wheels begin
to move on the road. Presently he saw something passing the trees--some
vehicle, and it was going at a good pace out from the village. Shod
though he was only in slippers, he shut his door behind him, and ran
across the college grounds to the road; but the vehicle was already out
of sight, and on the soft mud he could hear no further sound.

Trenholme stood hardly knowing what to think. He wore no hat; the damp,
cool air was grateful to his head, but he gave no thought to it. Just
then, from the other way of the road, he heard a light, elastic step and
saw a figure that, even in the darkness, he could not fail to know.

"Sophia!" There was fear in his voice.

"Have you seen Winifred?" she c