“Ah, this looks comfortable,” she exclaimed in great satisfaction.  “Is that my bag?  Put it down, please.  I’ll open it.  Now, if you’ll leave me a moment alone, I’ll soon be ready.  But you mustn’t expect me to eat till Anitra comes.  I couldn’t do that.  Oh, she’s a dreadful trial, Mrs. Deo; you have a motherly face, and I can tell you that the girl is just eating up my life.  If she weren’t my very self, deafened by hard usage, and rendered coarse and wilful by years of a miserable and half-starved life, I couldn’t bear it, especially after what I’ve sacrificed for her.  I’ve parted with my husband—­but I can’t talk, I can’t.  I would not have said so much if you hadn’t looked so kind.”

All this her husband heard, followed by a sob or two, quickly checked, however, by a high strained laugh and the gay remark: 

“I’m wet enough, but she’ll be dripping.  I’m afraid she’ll have to have her supper in her room.  She got out at the new schoolhouse and started to come through the lane.  It must be a weltering pool.  If I’m dressed in time I’ll come down and meet her at the door.  Meanwhile don’t wait for us; give Mr. Harper his supper.”

Her door closed, then suddenly opened again.  “If she don’t come in ten minutes, let some one go to the head of the lane.  But be sure it’s a careful person who won’t startle her.  I’ve got to put on another dress, so don’t bother me.  I’ll hear her when she enters her own room and will speak to her then—­if I dare; I’m not sure that I shall.”  And the door shut to again, this time with a snap of the lock.  Quiet reigned once more in the hall save for Mrs. Deo’s muttered exclamations as she made her laborious way down-stairs.  Had this good woman been less disturbed and not in so much of a hurry, she might have noted that the door of her literary guest’s room was ajar, and stopped to ask why the lamp remained unlit.

For five minutes, for ten minutes, he watched and listened, passing continually to and fro from door to window.  But his vigilance remained unrewarded by any further movement in the hall, or by the sight of an approaching figure up the road.  He began to feel odd, and was asking himself what sort of fool-work this was, when a clatter of voices rose below, followed by heavy steps on the veranda.  One or two men were going out, and as it seemed to him the landlady too, for he heard her say just as the door closed: 

“Let me on ahead; she must see a woman’s kind face first, poor child, or we shall not succeed in getting her in.  I know all about these wild ones.”

PART II

The Call of the Waterfall

CHAPTER X

TWO DOORS

The enthusiasm, the expectation in Mrs. Deo’s voice were unmistakable.  This good woman believed in this rescued waif of turbulent caprices and gipsy ways, and from this moment he began to believe in her too, and consequently to share some of the excitement which had now become prevalent all through the house.