she went back to the hated school without a visible token of
regret. She saw her trunks consigned to the porter, listened to a brief
conversation between Dr. ---- and her father, and after a hasty embrace and
half-dozen words, watched the tall, soldierly form re-enter the carriage.
Then she went slowly up the broad stairway to her cell-like room, and with
dry eyes unpacked her clothes, locked up the ring in her jewellery-box, and
prepared to resume her studies.

CHAPTER XI

ANXIETY

It was late October; a feeble flame flickered in the grate; on the rug
crouched an English spaniel, creeping closer as the heat died out and the
waning light of day gradually receded, leaving the room dusky, save where a
slanting line of yellow quivered down from the roof and gilt the folds of
black silk. At one of the windows stood Electra, half concealed by the
heavy green and gold drapery, one dimpled hand clinging to the curtains,
the other pressed against the panes, as she watched the forms hurrying
along the street below.

For three weeks she had received no letter from Russell; he was remarkably
punctual, and this long, unprecedented interval filled her, at first, with
vague uneasiness, which grew finally into horrible foreboding. For ten days
she had stood at this hour, at the same window, waiting for Mr. Clifton's
return from the post-office. Ten times the words "No letter" had fallen,
like the voice of doom, on her throbbing heart. On this eleventh day
suspense reached its acme, and time seemed to have locked its wheels to
lengthen her torture. At last an omnibus stopped, and Mr. Clifton stepped
out, with a bundle of papers under his arm. Closer pressed the pallid face
against the glass; firmer grew the grasp of the icy fingers on the
brocatel; she had no strength to meet him. He closed the door, hung up his
hat, and looked into the studio; no fire in the grate, no light in the
gas-globes--everything cold and dark save the reflection on that front
window.

"Electra!"

"I am here."

"No letter."

She stood motionless a moment; but the brick walls opposite, the trees, the
lamp-posts spun around, like maple leaves in an autumn gale.

"My owlet! why don't you have a light and some fire?"

He stumbled toward her, and put his hand on her shoulder; but she shrank
away, and, lighting the gas, rang for coal.

"There is something terrible the matter; Russell is either ill or dead. I
must go to him."

Just, then the d