and shutting of another door, far-off. But I couldn''t be sure. I called once, in a whisper, ''Miss Maud!''—but even a whisper sounded loud, at Briar, and I fell silent, straining my ears, looking hard at the darkness, then walking a few steps into the passage and listening again. I put my hands together and pressed them tight, more nervous now than I can say; but I was also, to be honest, rather peeved—for wasn''t it like her, to go wandering off at this late hour, without a reason or a word?
When the clock struck half-past eleven I called again, and took another couple of steps along the passage. But then my foot caught the edge of a rug, and I almost tripped. She could go this way without a candle, she knew it so well; but it was all strange to me. I didn''t dare wander after her. Suppose I took a wrong turning in the dark? I might never make my way out again.
So I only waited, counting the minutes. I went back to the bedroom and brought out the bags. Then I stood at the window. The moon was full, the night was bright. The lawn lay stretched before the house, the wall at the end of it, the river beyond. Somewhere on the water was Gentleman, coming closer as I watched. How long would he wait?
At last, when I had sweated myself into a lather, the clock struck twelve. I stood and tr