He had left the house about noon, saying that he would be home to dinner—­which, however, on such occasions, was held to be a feast movable over a wide space of time.  But on this occasion the women expected him to come early, as it was his intention to be out again as soon as it should be dark.  Mrs. Growler was asked to have the dinner ready at six.  During the day Mrs. Heathcote was backward and forward in the kitchen.  Then was something wrong she knew, but could not quite discern the evil.  Sing Sing, the cook, was more than ordinarily alert; but Sing Sing, the cook, was not much trusted.  Mrs. Growler was “as good as the Bank,” as far as that went, having lived with old Mr. Daly when he was prosperous; but she was apt to be downhearted, and on the present occasion was more than usually low in spirits.  Whenever Mrs. Heathcote spoke, she wept.  At six o’clock she came into the parlor with a budget of news.  Sing Sing, the cook, had been gone for the last half hour, leaving the leg of mutton at the fire.  It soon became clear to them that he had altogether absconded.

“Them rats always does leave a falling house,” said Mrs. Growler.

At seven o’clock the sun was down, though the gloom of the tropical evening had not yet come.  The two ladies went out to the gate, which was but a few yards from the veranda, and there stood listening for the sound of Harry’s horse.  The low moaning of the wind through the trees could be heard, but it was so gentle, continuous, and unaltered that it seemed to be no more than a vehicle for other sounds, and was as death-like as silence itself.  The gate of the horse paddock through which Heathcote must pass on his way home was nearly a mile distant; but the road there was hard, and they knew that they could hear from there the fall of his horse’s feet.  There they stood from seven to nearly eight, whispering a word now and then to each other, listening always, but in vain.  Looking away to the west every now and then, they fancied that they could see the sky glow with flames, and then they would tell each other that it was fancy.  The evening grew darker and still darker, but no sound was heard through the moaning wind.  From time to time Mrs. Growler came out to them, declaring her fears in no measured terms.  “Well, marm, I do declare I think we’d better go away out of this.”

“Go away, Mrs. Growler!  What nonsense!  Where can we go to?”

“The mill would be nearest, ma’am, and we should be safe there.  I’m sure Mrs. Medlicot would take us in.”

“Why should you not be safe here?” said Kate.

“That wretched Chinese hasn’t gone and left us for nothing, miss, and what would we three lone women do here if all them Brownbies came down upon us?  Why don’t master come back?  He ought to come back; oughtn’t he, ma’am?  He never do think what lone women are.”

Mrs. Heathcote took her husband’s part very strongly, and gave Mrs. Growler as hard a scolding as she knew how to pronounce.  But her own courage was giving way much as Mrs. Growler’s had done.  “We are bound to stay here,” she said; “and if the worst comes, we must bear it as others have done before us.”  Then Mrs. Growler was very sulky, and, retreating to the kitchen, sobbed there in solitude.  “Oh, Kate, I do wish he would come,” said the elder sister.