“Don’t you know that vulgar old proverb which says that ‘a watched pot never boils,’ Laura?” remonstrated Miss Clare. “Depend upon it, your husband will never come while you are worrying yourself about him. You should try to get him out of your thoughts.”
“I can’t,” answered Laura. “All my thoughts are of him. He is a part of my mind.”
Celia sighed, and felt more sympathetic than usual. She had been thinking about George Gerard for the last four days more than seemed at all reasonable; and it occurred to her that if she were ever to be seriously in love, she might be quite as foolish as her friend.
The day wore on very slowly, for both women. Laura watched the clock, and gave herself up to the study of railway timetables, in order to calculate the probabilities as to John Treverton’s return. She sent the carriage to meet an afternoon train, and the carriage came back empty. This was a disappointment, though she argued with herself afterwards that she had not been justified in expecting her husband by that train.
An especially excellent dinner had been ordered, in the hope that the master of the house would be at home to eat it. Seven o’clock came, but no John Treverton, and so the dinner was deferred till eight; and at eight Laura would have had it kept back till nine if Celia had not protested against such cruelty.
“I don’t suppose you asked me to stay here with the deliberate intention of starving me,” she said, “but that is exactly what you are doing. I feel as if it was weeks since I had eaten anything, There is no possibility—at least so far as the railway goes—of Mr. Treverton’s being here before half-past ten; so you really may as well let me have a little food, even if you are too much in the clouds to eat your dinner.”
“I am not in the clouds, dear, I am only anxious.” They went into the dining-room and sat down to the table which seemed so empty and dismal without the master of the house. The carriage was ordered to meet the last train. Celia ate an excellent dinner, talking more or less all the time. Laura was too agitated to eat anything. She was glad to get back to the drawing-room, where she could walk up and down, and lift the curtain from one of the windows every now and then to look out and listen for wheels that were not likely to be heard within an hour.
“Laura, you are making me positively miserable.” Celia cried at last. “You are as monotonous in your movements as a squirrel in his cage, and don’t seem half so happy as a squirrel. It’s a fine, dry night. We had better wrap ourselves up and walk to the gate to meet the carriage. Anything will be better than this.”
“I should enjoy it above all things,” said Laura.
Five minutes later they were both clad in fur jackets and hats, and were walking briskly towards the avenue.
The night was fine, and lit with wintry stars. There was no moon, but that clear sky, with its pale radiance of stars, gave quite enough light to direct the footsteps of the two girls, who knew every inch of the way.
They had not gone far before Celia, whose tongue ran on gaily, and whose eyes roamed in every direction, espied a man walking a little way in front of them.
“A strange man,” she cried. “Look, Laura! I hope he’s not a burglar!”
“Why should he be a burglar? No doubt he is some tradesman who has been delivering goods at the kitchen door.”
“At ten o’clock?” cried Celia. “Most irregular. Why, every respectable tradesman in the village is in bed and asleep by this time.”
Laura made no further suggestion. The subject had no interest for her. She was straining her ears to catch the first sound of wheels on the frost-bound high-road. Celia quickened her pace.
“Let’s try and overtake him,” she said; “I think it’s our duty. You ought not to allow suspicious looking strangers to hang about your grounds without at least trying to find out who they are. He may have a revolver, but I’ll risk it.”
With this heroic determination Celia went off at a run, and presently came up with the man, who was walking steadily on in front of her. At the sound of her footsteps he stopped and looked round.
“I beg your pardon,” gasped Celia, in a breathless condition, and looking anxiously for the expected revolver. “Have you been leaving anything at the Manor House?”
“No, madam. I’ve only been making an inquiry,” the man replied, quietly.
“It is one of John’s tenants, Celia,” said Laura overtaking them. “You have been to inquire about Mr. Treverton’s return, I suppose,” she added, to the stranger.
“Yes, madam. My visit is to come to an end on Monday morning, and I am getting anxious. I want to see Mr. Treverton before I go back. It will save me a journey to and fro, you see, madam, and time is money to a man in my position.”
“I expect him home this evening,” Laura answered, kindly; “and if he does come tonight, as I hope he will, I have no doubt he will see you as early as you like on Monday morning. At nine, if that will not be too early for you.”
“I thank you, madam. That will suit me admirably.”
“Good evening,” said Laura.
The man lifted his hat and walked away.
“A very decent person,” remarked Celia; “not a bit like the popular notion of a burglar, but perhaps
