en, let's hope he won't be very ill; but he isn't going by the
Bay of Biscay, dear."

The wind blew furiously all morning, and when it dropped a little
towards evening it was followed by a pelting rain.

"He's at Dover now."

"In a mackintosh," said Kitty by way of consolation. But Lucia,
uncomforted, lay still, listening to the rain. It danced like a
thousand devils on the gravel of the courtyard. Suddenly she sat up,
raising herself by her hands.

"Kitty!" she cried. "He's coming. He is really. By the terrace. Can't
you hear?"

Kitty heard nothing but the rain dancing on the courtyard. And the
terrace led into it by the other wing. It was impossible that Lucia
could have heard footsteps there.

"But I _know_, Kitty, I know. It's his walk. And he always came that
way."

She slipped her feet swiftly on to the floor, and to Kitty's amazement
sat up unsupported. Kitty in terror ran to her and put her arm round
her, but Lucia freed herself gently from her grasp. She was trembling
in all her body. Kitty herself heard footsteps in the courtyard now.
They stopped suddenly and the door-bell rang.

"Do go to him, Kitty--and tell him. And send him here to me."

Kitty went, and found Keith Rickman standing in the hall. Her instinct
told her that Lucia must be obeyed. And as she sent him in to her, she
saw through the open door that Lucia rose to her feet, and came to him
and never swayed till his arms held her.

She clung to him and he drew her closer and lifted her and carried her
to her couch, murmuring things inarticulate yet so plain that even she
could not misunderstand.

"I thought you were going to Paris?" she said.

"I'm not. I'm here."

She sat up and laid her hands about him, feeling his shoulders and his
sleeves.

"How wet your coat is."

He kissed her and she held her face against his that was cold with the
wind and rain; she took his hands and tried to warm them in her own,
piteously forgetful of herself, as if it were he, not she, who needed
tenderness.

"Lucy--are you very ill, darling?"

"No. I am very, very well."

He thought it was one of those things that people say when they mean
that death is well. He gathered her to him as if he could hold her
back from death. She looked smiling into his face.

"Keith," she said, "you _didn't_ have a mackintosh. You must go away
at once to Robert and get dry."

"Not now, Lucy. Let me stay."

"How long can you stay?"

"As long as ever you'll le