When the first gleam of sun told her that it was past eight o clock, she made an effort and rose.

At breakfast Mrs. Warricombe talked of the departure for London.  She mentioned an early train; by getting ready as soon as the meal was over, they could easily reach the station in time.  Sidwell made no direct reply and seemed to assent; but when they rose from the table, she said, nervously: 

’I couldn’t speak before the servants.  I wish to stay here till the afternoon.’

‘Why, Sidwell?’

‘I have asked Mr. Peak to come and see me this morning.’

Her mother knew that expostulation was useless, but could not refrain from a long harangue made up of warning and reproof.

‘You have very little consideration for me,’ was her final remark.  ’Now we shan’t get home till after dark, and of course my throat will be bad again.’

Glad of the anti-climax, Sidwell replied that the day was much warmer, and that with care no harm need come of the journey.

’It’s easy to say that, Sidwell.  I never knew you to behave so selfishly, never!’

’Don’t be angry with me, mother.  You don’t know how grieved I am to distress you so.  I can’t help it, dear; indeed, I can’t.  Won’t you sacrifice a few hours to put my mind at rest?’

Mrs. Warricombe once more gave expression to her outraged feelings.  Sidwell could only listen silently with bent head.

If Godwin were coming at all, he would be here by eleven o’clock.  Sidwell had learnt that her letter was put into his hands.  She asked him to come at once, and nothing but a resolve not to meet her could delay him more than an hour or two.

At half-past ten the bell sounded.  She was sitting in the library with her back turned to the door.  When a voice announced ‘Mr. Peak’, she did not at once rise, and with a feeling akin to terror she heard the footstep slowly approaching.  It stopped at some distance from her; then, overcoming a weakness which threatened to clog her as in a nightmare, she stood up and looked round.

Peak wore neither overcoat nor gloves, but otherwise was dressed in the usual way.  As Sidwell fixed her eyes upon him, he threw his hat into a chair and came a step or two nearer.  Whether he had passed the night in sleep or vigil could not be determined; but his look was one of shame, and he did not hold himself so upright as was his wont.

‘Will you come and sit down?’ said Sidwell, pointing to a chair not far from that on which one of her hands rested.

He moved forward, and was about to pass near her, when Sidwell involuntarily held her hand to him.  He took it and gazed into her face with a melancholy smile.

‘What does it mean?’ she asked, in a low voice.

He relinquished her fingers, which he had scarcely pressed, and stood with his arms behind his back.

‘Oh, it’s all quite true,’ was his reply, wearily spoken.