who would have told the truth, in such a position as mine was at that moment, I should like to have her photograph.  I said I didn’t know—­and I saw he suspected me of deceiving him.  Those kind eyes of his—­you wouldn’t believe it of them!—­looked me through and through.  ‘I won’t detain you any longer,’ he said.  I’m not easily daunted, as you know—­the relief it was to me to get away from him is not to be told in words.  What do you think I heard when I got into the passage?  I heard him turn the key of the door.  He’s locked in, my dear; he’s locked in!  We are too near him here.  Come upstairs.”

Catherine refused.  “I ought to be near him,” she said, hopefully; “he may wish to see me.”

Her mother reminded her that the waiting-room was a public room, and might be wanted.

“Let’s go into the garden,” Mrs. Presty proposed.  “We can tell the servant who waits on us where we may be found.”

Catherine yielded.  Mrs. Presty’s excitement found its overflow in talking perpetually.  Her daughter had nothing to say, and cared nothing where they went; all outward manifestation of life in her seemed to be suspended at that terrible time of expectation.  They wandered here and there, in the quietest part of the grounds.  Half an hour passed—­and no message was received.  The hotel clock struck the hour—­and still nothing happened.

“I can walk no longer,” Catherine said.  She dropped on one of the garden-chairs, holding by her mother’s hand.  “Go to him, for God’s sake!” she entreated.  “I can endure it no longer.”

Mrs. Presty—­even bold Mrs. Presty—­was afraid to face him again.  “He’s fond of the child,” she suggested; “let’s send Kitty.”

Some little girls were at play close by who knew where Kitty was to be found.  In a few minutes more they brought her back with them.  Mrs. Presty gave the child her instructions, and sent her away proud of her errand, and delighted at the prospect of visiting the Captain by herself, as if she “was a grown-up lady.”

This time the period of suspense was soon at an end.  Kitty came running back.  “It’s lucky you sent me,” she declared.  “He wouldn’t have opened the door to anybody else—­he said so himself.”

“Did you knock softly, as I told you?” Mrs. Presty asked.

“No, grandmamma, I forgot that.  I tried to open the door.  He called out not to disturb him.  I said, ‘It’s only me,’ and he opened the door directly.  What makes him look so pale, mamma?  Is he ill?”

“Perhaps he feels the heat,” Mrs. Presty suggested, judiciously.

“He said, ‘Dear little Kitty,’ and he caught me up in his arms and kissed me.  When he sat down again he took me on his knee, and he asked if I was fond of him, and I said, ‘Yes, I am,’ and he kissed me again, and he asked if I had come to stay with him and keep him company.  I forgot what you wanted me to say,” Kitty acknowledged, addressing Mrs. Presty; “so I made it up out of my own head.”