his pulses beating to a tune quite new to them.  What was she going to do?  Sign away all her property?  Beggar her heirs for—­He could not say what.  No; even such a resolution could not account for her remarkable expression of concentrated will.  There was in her distracted mind something of more tragic import than this; and he dared not question what; dared not even approach this woman who, less than a week before, had linked herself to him for life.  The uneasy light in those fixed and gleaming eyes betrayed a reason too lightly poised.  He feared any additional shock for her.  Better that she should go down undisturbed to her adviser, who bore a reputation which insured a judicious use of his power.  What if she were about to will away her fortune to the man she called brother?  He himself had no use for her wealth.  Her health and happiness were all that concerned him, and these possibly depended on her being allowed to go her own way without interference.  But oh, for eyes to see into the room into which she had withdrawn with the lawyer!  For eyes to see into her heart!  For eyes to see into the future!

His suspense presently became so great that he could no longer control himself.  Throwing up the window, he thrust his head out into the rain and felt refreshed by the icy drops falling on his face and neck.  But the roar of the waterfall rang too persistently in his ears and he hastily closed the window again.  There was something in the incessant boom of that tumbling water which strangely disturbed him.  He could better stand suspense than that.  If only the wind would bluster again.  That, at least, was intermittent in its fury and gave momentary relief to thoughts strained to an unbearable tension.

Afterwards, only a short time afterwards, he wondered that he had given himself over to such extreme feeling at this especial moment.  Her appearance when she came quietly back, with Mrs. Deo chatting and smiling behind her, was natural enough, and though she did not speak herself, the tenor of the landlady’s remarks was such as to show that they had been conversing about old days when the two little girls used to ransack her cupboards for their favorite cookies, and when their united pranks were the talk of the town.

As they passed down the hall, Mrs. Deo garrulously remarked: 

“You were never separated except on that dreadful day of the schoolhouse burning.  That day you were sick and—­”

“Please!” The word leaped from Georgian in terror, and she almost threw her hand against the other’s mouth.  “I—­I can’t bear it.”

The good lady paused, gurgled an apology, and stooped for the tray which disfigured the sightliness of the neatly kept hall.  Then, nodding towards a maid whom she had placed on watch at the extreme end of the hall, she muttered some assurances as to this woman’s faithfulness, and turned away with a cordial good night.  Georgian watched her go with a strange and lingering intentness, or so it seemed to Ransom; then slowly entered her room and locked the door.