own, seeking for
Miltoun. After tea she tried first to read, then to sew, and once more
came back to her piano. The clock struck six; and as if its last stroke
had broken the armour of her mind, she felt suddenly sick with anxiety.
Why was he so long? But she kept on playing, turning the pages without
taking in the notes, haunted by the idea that he might again have fallen
ill. Should she telegraph? What good, when she could not tell in the
least where he might be? And all the unreasoning terror of not knowing
where the loved one is, beset her so that her hands, in sheer numbness,
dropped from the keys. Unable to keep still, now, she wandered from
window to door, out into the little hall, and back hastily to the
window. Over her anxiety brooded a darkness, compounded of vague growing
fears. What if it were the end? What if he had chosen this as the most
merciful way of leaving her? But surely he would never be so cruel!
Close on the heels of this too painful thought came reaction; and she
told herself that she was a fool. He was at the House; something quite
ordinary was keeping him. It was absurd to be anxious! She would have to
get used to this now. To be a drag on him would be dreadful. Sooner than
that she would rather--yes--rather he never came back! And she took up
her book, determined to read quietly till he came. But the moment
she sat down her fears returned with redoubled force-the cold sickly
horrible feeling of uncertainty, of the knowledge that she could do
nothing but wait till she was relieved by something over which she had
no control. And in the superstition that to stay there in the window
where she could see him come, was keeping him from her, she went into
her bedroom. From there she could watch the sunset clouds wine-dark over
the river. A little talking wind shivered along the houses; the dusk
began creeping in. She would not turn on the light, unwilling to
admit that it was really getting late, but began to change her dress,
lingering desperately over every little detail of her toilette, deriving
therefrom a faint, mysterious comfort, trying to make herself feel
beautiful. From sheer dread of going back before he came, she let her
hair fall, though it was quite smooth and tidy, and began brushing
it. Suddenly she thought with horror of her efforts at adornment--by
specially preparing for him, she must seem presumptuous to Fate. At
any little sound she stopped and stood listening--save for her hair a