She had passed the time between a study of that wasted face, and an
eager and restless looking forth from the casement, as though in
search of something or somebody who came not.
Often she saw servants and messengers hastening this way and that,
exchanging words with each other, and starting off afresh; but the
one stalwart figure, for which she gazed with aching eyes, appeared
not, and often a sigh would break from her lips, whilst from time
to time a tear forced its way to her eyes.
Dusk was falling now. She could no longer see across the expanse of
park land which surrounded Gablehurst. She drew the curtains at
last with gentle hands, and piled up the logs upon the hearth.
There was a glint of something in her eyes not altogether accounted
for by the tears in them. It was a sparkle which bespoke wounded
sensibility--something approaching to anger.
"O brother, brother," she whispered, with dry lips, "how can you
treat him so? Have you a heart? How terrible a judgment you seem to
be seeking to draw down upon yourself! What will the end be like,
if this is the beginning?"
The flames leapt up with a sudden ruddy glow. The room had been
dark before; now it was suddenly flooded with a brilliant
palpitating light.
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