“Is she going by the midnight train?” Hester asked, with a sense of inconvenience in it that she could hardly explain.
“Yes, if it is possible to get her off,” said the captain; “but, my dear, it is too late for you to walk alone.”
“No, oh no. It is only for this once,” Hester cried, with involuntary passion unawares.
“My dear child!” said the old man. He was disturbed by her looks. “I will go in and get an overcoat, and join you directly, Hester; for though I am tired I would rather be overtired than that you should walk alone.”
The only way that Hester could defend herself was to hurry away out of sight before he came out again. She had a dark dress, a veil over her face. Her springy step indeed was not easy to be mistaken, nor the outline of her alert and vigorous figure, which was so much unlike loitering. She got away into the fields by a lonely path, where she could be safe she thought till the time of her appointment came. What was to happen at that appointment she could not tell. Excitement was so high in her veins that she had no time to ask herself what she would answer him if he kept to his intention, or what she should do. Was it on the cards still that she might follow him to the end of the world?
Edward had arrived late, only in time for dinner. He got Hester’s note and read it with an impatient exclamation.
“The little fool,” he said to himself, “as if that was not the very—” and tore it in a thousand pieces. He dressed for dinner very carefully, as was his wont, and was very pleasant at table, telling Catherine various incidents of his journey. “You must make the most of me while you have me,” he said, “for I have a pile of letters in my room that would make anyone ill to look at. I must get through them tonight—there may be something important. It is a pity Harry doesn’t take more of a share.”
“I think for my part it is one of the best things about him,” said Catherine, “that he always acknowledges your superiority. He knows he will never set the Thames on fire.”
“And why should he?” said Edward: “a man may be a very good man of business without that. I wish he would go into things more; then he would always be ready in case of an emergency.”
“What emergency?” said Catherine, almost sharply. “You are too farseeing, I think.”
“Oh, I might die, you know,” said Edward, with an abrupt laugh.
“Anything might happen,” she said; “but there are many more likely contingencies to be provided for. What is that?” she added quickly.
The butler had brought in and presented to Edward upon a large silver salver which called attention to it, a small, white, square object.
“Return tickets, ma’am,” said the butler solemnly, “as dropped out of Mr. Edward’s overcoat.”
“Return tickets! you are not going back again, Edward?”
“I am always running up and down, Aunt Catherine. I constantly take return tickets,” he said quietly, pocketing the tickets and giving the butler a look which he did not soon forget. For there were two of them, which Marshall could not understand. As for Catherine, this gave her a little pang, she could not tell why. But Edward had never found so much to tell her before. He kept her amused during the whole time of dinner. Afterwards he took her upstairs into the drawing-room and put her into her favourite chair, and did everything that a tender son could have done for her comfort. It was growing dusk by this time, and he had not been able to keep himself from giving a glance now and then at the sky.
“Do you think we are going to have a storm, Edward?” Catherine asked.
“I think it looks a little like it. You had better have your window shut,” he said.
He had never been more kind. He kissed her hand and her cheek when he went away, saying it was possible if his letters were very tough that he might not come upstairs again before she went to bed.
“Your hand is hot,” she said, “my dear boy. I am afraid you are a little feverish.”
“It has been very warm in town, and I am always best, you know, in country air,” was what he said.
She sat very quietly for some time after he had left her, then seeing no appearance of any storm, rose and opened her window again. He was almost too careful of her. As she did so she heard a faint sound below as of someone softly closing the door. Was it Edward going out notwithstanding his letters? She put herself very close to the window to watch. He had a small bag in his hand, and stood for a moment at the gate looking up and down; then he made a quick step beyond it as if to meet someone. Catherine watched, straining her eyes through the gloom. She was not angry. It brought all her fears, her watchfulness, back in a moment. But if it was true that he loved Hester, of course he must wish to see her—if she was so unmaidenly, so unwomanly as to consent to come out like this to meet him. And was it at her own very door that the tryst was? This roused Catherine. She heard a murmur of voices on the other side of the great holly. The summer night was so soft, every sound was carried by the air. Here was her opportunity to discover who it was. She did not pause to think, but taking up her shawl in her hand threw it over her head as she stole downstairs. It was black and made her almost invisible, her dress being black too. She came out at a side door, narrowly escaping the curiosity of Marshall. The bright day had fallen into
