The Woodlanders

Thus conviction took root in her perturbed mind that Winterborne was

ill, or had been so, and that he had carefully concealed his condition

from her that she might have no scruples about accepting a hospitality

which by the nature of the case expelled her entertainer.

"My own, own, true l----, my dear kind friend!" she cried to herself.

"Oh, it shall not be--it shall not be!"

She hastily wrapped herself up, and obtained a light, with which she

entered the adjoining room, the cot possessing only one floor. Setting

down the candle on the table here, she went to the door with the key in

her hand, and placed it in the lock. Before turning it she paused, her

fingers still clutching it; and pressing her other hand to her

forehead, she fell into agitating thought.

A tattoo on the window, caused by the tree-droppings blowing against

it, brought her indecision to a close. She turned the key and opened

the door.

The darkness was intense, seeming to touch her pupils like a substance.

She only now became aware how heavy the rainfall had been and was; the

dripping of the eaves splashed like a fountain. She stood listening

with parted lips, and holding the door in one hand, till her eyes,

growing accustomed to the obscurity, discerned the wild brandishing of

their boughs by the adjoining trees. At last she cried loudly with an

effort, "Giles! you may come in!"

There was no immediate answer to her cry, and overpowered by her own

temerity, Grace retreated quickly, shut the door, and stood looking on

the floor. But it was not for long. She again lifted the latch, and

with far more determination than at first.

"Giles, Giles!" she cried, with the full strength of her voice, and

without any of the shamefacedness that had characterized her first cry.

"Oh, come in--come in! Where are you? I have been wicked. I have

thought too much of myself! Do you hear? I don't want to keep you out

any longer. I cannot bear that you should suffer so. Gi-i-iles!"

A reply! It was a reply! Through the darkness and wind a voice reached

her, floating upon the weather as though a part of it.

"Here I am--all right. Don't trouble about me."

"Don't you want to come in? Are you not ill? I don't mind what they

say, or what they think any more."

"I am all right," he repeated. "It is not necessary for me to come.

Good-night! good-night!"

Grace sighed, turned and shut the door slowly. Could she have been

mistaken about his health? Perhaps, after all, she had perceived a

change in him because she had not seen him for so long. Time sometimes

did his ageing work in jerks, as she knew. Well, she had done all she

could. He would not come in. She retired to rest again.