With that outburst of temper, she took the letter to Bennydeck. In less
than a minute she returned, a tamed woman. "He frightens me," she said.

"Is he angry?"

"No--and that is the worst of it. When men are angry, I am never afraid
of them. He's quiet, too quiet. He said: 'I'm waiting for Mr. Herbert
Linley; where is he?' I said. 'He has left the hotel.' He said:
'What does that mean?' I handed the letter to him. 'Perhaps this will
explain,' I said. He looked at the address, and at once recognized your
handwriting. 'Why does she write to me when we are both in the same
house? Why doesn't she speak to me?' I pointed to the letter. He
wouldn't look at it; he looked straight at me. 'There's some mystery
here,' he said; 'I'm a plain man, I don't like mysteries. Mr. Linley had
something to say to me, when the message interrupted him. Who sent the
message? Do you know?' If there is a woman living, Catherine, who would
have told the truth, in such a position as mine was at that moment, I
should like to have her photograph. I said I didn't know--and I saw
he suspected me of deceiving him. Those kind eyes of his--you wouldn't
believe it of them!--looked me through and through. 'I won't detain you
any longer,' he said. I'm not easily daunted, as you know--the relief it
was to me to get away from him is not to be told in words. What do you
think I heard when I got into the passage? I heard him turn the key of
the door. He's locked in, my dear; he's locked in! We are too near him
here. Come upstairs."

Catherine refused. "I ought to be near him," she said, hopefully; "he
may wish to see me."

Her mother reminded her that the waiting-room was a public room, and
might be wanted.

"Let's go into the garden," Mrs. Presty proposed. "We can tell the
servant who waits on us where we may be found."

Catherine yielded. Mrs. Presty's excitement found its overflow in
talking perpetually. Her daughter had nothing to say, and cared nothing
where they went; all outward manifestation of life in her seemed to be
suspended at that terrible time of expectation. They wandered here and
there, in the quietest part of the grounds. Half an hour passed--and no
message was received. The hotel clock struck the hour--and still nothing
happened.

"I can walk no longer," Catherine said. She dropped on one of the
garden-chairs, holding by her mother's hand. "Go to him, for God's
sake!" she entreated. "I can endure it no longer."

Mrs. Presty--even b