"But what could he want the blanket for?"
Mr. Warde, after two or three fruitless journeys, had again come back to the Court for news, hoping that somebody else might have been more fortunate. It was just on the edge of dawn, in that stillness when the first faint twitter of the birds is just beginning.
As he came down the broad pavement to the Court gate, the eastern sky was growing clear above the chimney stacks of the Deanery. Lights were still shining in the windows round, and, as he neared the gate, Marjorie came forward quickly.
The sight of her wan face was a shock to him; she was still in the pretty evening dress, above which, in the twilight of the dawn, her neck and throat shone white. She had the air of some broken lily--desolate, woeful.
Mr. Warde's heart went out to her with a great compassion. His eyes grew dim as her wistful glance met his.
[Illustration: The sight of her wan face was a shock to him.]
"No, dear, I can hear nothing," he said softly, putting his arm round her. Marjorie rested against him, letting her tired young limbs collapse against his strength. Inspired by some instinct she did not understand, she had left her mother's sofa, where Mr. Pelham was now sitting, waiting for the return of a messenger. They two, it seemed to Marjorie, with a mutual sorrow could understand each other. She felt somehow restless, uneasy, unworthy, as she coldly responded to Mr. Pelham's sympathy and care. At his suggestion she had come away to prepare some tea for her mother, and in passing through the hall had been lured to the open door by the sound of Mr. Warde's footsteps on the flagstones. The quick, firm tread encouraged hope. She could rest on him. The very sight of his kind, familiar face seemed to renew her strength and courage.
[Illustration: "See! on that little tower on the chapel."]
After a minute's silence, during which his hand had caressed the soft waves of her hair, he asked, "What could Sandy want the blanket for? I have been trying to think."
"So have we--mother and I. Poor mother!" Marjorie sighed.
"No. Mr. Pelham is with her; he understands, he is tender and careful; and she is full of hope now--she comforts him. Father has gone to the river."
