His curiosity concerning this nun grew apace, for she seemed a favourite with both the girls.

When it was near midnight the imaginary pageant suddenly came to an end, as in all cases of enchantment.  Eliz grew tired; one of the lamps smoked and had to be extinguished; the fire had burned low.  Madge declared that the company had departed.

She went out of the room to call the servant, but in a few minutes she came back discomfited, a little pout on her lips.  ’Isn’t it tiresome!  Mathilde and Jacques Morin have gone to bed.’

‘It is just like them,’ fretted Eliz.

At the fretful voice Madge’s face cleared.  ‘What does it matter?’ she cried.  ‘We are perfectly happy.’

She lifted the lamp with which he had first seen her, and commenced an inspection of doors and shutters.  It was a satisfaction to Courthope to see the house.  It was a French building, as were all the older houses in that part of the country, heavily built, simple in the arrangements of its rooms.  Every door on the lower floor stood open, inviting the heat of a large central stove.  Insisting upon carrying the lamp while Madge made her survey, he was introduced to a library at the end of the drawing-room, to a large house-place or kitchen behind the dining-room; these with his own room made the square of the lower story.  A wing adjoining the further side was devoted to the Morins.  Having performed her duty as householder, Madge said good-night.

‘We have enjoyed it ever so much more because you were here.’  She held out her hand; her face was radiant; he knew that she spoke the simple truth.

She lifted the puny Eliz in her arms and proceeded to walk slowly up the straight staircase which occupied one half of the long central hall.  The crimson scarfs hanging from Eliz, the length of her own silk gown, embarrassed her; she stopped a moment on the second step, resting her burden upon one lifted knee to clutch and gather the gorgeous raiment in her hand.

’You see we put on mother’s dresses, that have always been packed away in the garret.’

Very simply she said this to Courthope, who stood holding a lamp to light them in their ascent.  He waited until the glinting colours of their satins, the slow motion of the burden-bearer’s form, reached the top and were lost in the shadows of an open door.

CHAPTER III

Courthope opened the shutters of his window to look out upon the night; they were heavy wooden shutters clasped with an iron clasp.  A French window he could also open; outside that a temporary double window was fixed in the casement with light hooks at the four corners.  The wind was still blustering about the lonely house, and, after examining the twilight of the snow-clad night attentively, he perceived that snow was still falling.  He thought he could almost see the drifts rising higher against the out-buildings.