in was falling, but she paid no heed
to it. In a moment Widdowson hastened after her, careless, he too, of
the descending floods. Her way was towards the railway station, but the
driver of a cab chancing to attract her notice, she accepted the man's
offer, and bade him drive to Lavender Hill.

On the first opportunity Widdowson took like refuge from the rain, and
was driven in the same direction. He alighted not far from Mrs.
Conisbee's house. That Monica had come hither he felt no doubt, but he
would presently make sure of it. As it still rained he sought shelter
in a public-house, where he quenched a painful thirst, and then
satisfied his hunger with such primitive foods as a licensed victualler
is disposed to vend. It was nearing eleven o'clock, and he had neither
eaten nor drunk since luncheon.

After that he walked to Mrs. Conisbee's, and knocked at the door. The
landlady came.

'Will you please to tell me,' he asked 'whether Mrs. Widdowson is here?'

The sly curiosity of the woman's face informed him at once that she saw
something unusual in these circumstances.

'Yes, sir. Mrs. Widdowson is with her sister,'

'Thank you.'

Without another word he departed. But went only a short distance, and
until midnight kept Mrs. Conisbee's door in view. The rain fell, the
air was raw; shelterless, and often shivering with fever, Widdowson
walked the pavement with a constable's regularity. He could not but
remember the many nights when he thus kept watch in Walworth Road and
in Rutland Street, with jealousy, then too, burning in his heart, but
also with amorous ardours, never again to be revived. A little more
than twelve months ago! And he had waited, longed for marriage through
half a lifetime.

CHAPTER XXV

THE FATE OF THE IDEAL

Rhoda's week at the seashore was spoilt by uncertain weather. Only two
days of abiding sunshine; for the rest, mere fitful gleams across a sky
heaped with stormclouds. Over Wastdale hung a black canopy; from
Scawfell came mutterings of thunder; and on the last night of the
week--when Monica fled from her home in pelting rain--tempest broke
upon the mountains and the sea. Wakeful until early morning, and at
times watching the sky from her inland-looking window, Rhoda saw the
rocky heights that frown upon Wastwater illuminated by lightning-flare
of such intensity and duration that miles of distance were annihilated,
and it seemed but a step to these stern crags and precipices.