She remained standing by the open door until his footsteps passed down the staircase.  Then she suddenly closed and locked the door with an instinct that Mrs. Barker might at once return now that he was gone, and she wished to be a moment alone to recover herself.  But she presently opened it again and listened.  There was a noise in the courtyard, but it sounded like the rattle of wheels more than the clatter of a horseman.  Then she was overcome—­a sudden sense of pity for the unfortunate woman still hiding from her husband—­and felt a momentary chivalrous exaltation of spirit.  Certainly she had done “good” to that wretched “Kitty;” perhaps she had earned the epithet that Barker had applied to her.  Perhaps that was the meaning of all this happiness to her, and the result was to be only the happiness and reconciliation of the wife and husband.  This was to be her reward.  I grieve to say that the tears had come into her beautiful eyes at this satisfactory conclusion, but she dashed them away and ran out into the hall.  It was quite dark, but there was a faint glimmer on the opposite wall as if the door of Mrs. Barker’s bedroom were ajar to an eager listener.  She flew towards the glimmer, and pushed the door open:  the room was empty.  Empty of Mrs. Barker, empty of her dressing-box, her reticule and shawl.  She was gone.

Still, Mrs. Horncastle lingered; the woman might have got frightened and retreated to some further room at the opening of the door and the coming out of her husband.  She walked along the passage, calling her name softly.  She even penetrated the dreary, half-lit public parlor, expecting to find her crouching there.  Then a sudden wild idea took possession of her:  the miserable wife had repented of her act and of her concealment, and had crept downstairs to await her husband in the office.  She had told him some new lie, had begged him to take her with him, and Barker, of course, had assented.  Yes, she now knew why she had heard the rattling wheels instead of the clattering hoofs she had listened for.  They had gone together, as he first proposed, in the buggy.

She ran swiftly down the stairs and entered the office.  The overworked clerk was busy and querulously curt.  These women were always asking such idiotic questions.  Yes, Mr. Barker had just gone.

“With Mrs. Barker in the buggy?” asked Mrs. Horncastle.

“No, as he came—­on horseback.  Mrs. Barker left half an hour ago.”

“Alone?”

This was apparently too much for the long-suffering clerk.  He lifted his eyes to the ceiling, and then, with painful precision, and accenting every word with his pencil on the desk before him, said deliberately, “Mrs. George Barker—­left—­here—­with her—­escort—­the—­man she—­was—­always—­asking—­for—­in—­the—­buggy—­at exactly—­9.35.”  And he plunged into his work again.