She pictured him in the act of going—­leaving the house as he had left it just now.  She saw the gate closing on him for the last time.  Now her vision was acute enough:  she saw him as distinctlyas if he were in the room.  Ah, he would not like returning to the old life of privations and expedients!  And yet she knew he wouldnot plead with her.

Suddenly a new thought rushed through her mind.  What if Andora had rushed to him with the tale of the discovery of the letters—­with the “Fly, you are discovered!” of romantic fiction?  What if he had left her for good?  It would not be unlikehim, after all.  Under his wonderful gentleness he was always evasive and inscrutable.  He might have said to himself that he would forestall her action, and place himself at once on the defensive.  It might be that she had seen him go out of the gate forthe last time.

She looked about the room again, as if this thought had given it a new aspect.  Yes, this alone could explain her husband’s going out.  It was past twelve o’clock, their usual luncheon hour, and he was scrupulously punctual at meals, and gently reproachful if shekept him waiting.  Only some unwonted event could have caused himto leave the house at such an hour and with such marks of haste.  Well, perhaps it was better that Andora should have spoken.  She mistrusted her own courage; she almost hoped the deed had been done for her.  Yet her next sensation was one of confused resentment.  She said to herself, “Why has Andora interfered?” She felt baffled and angry, as though her prey had escaped her.  If Deering had been in the house, she would have gone to him instantly and overwhelmed him with her scorn.  But he had gone out, and she did not know where he had gone, and oddly mingled with her anger against him was the latent instinct of vigilance, thesolicitude of the woman accustomed to watch over the man she loves.  It would be strange never to feel that solicitude again, never to hear him say, with his hand on her hair:  “Why, you foolish child, were you worried?  Am I late?”

The sense of his touch was so real that she stiffened herself against it, flinging back her head as if to throw off his hand.  The mere thought of his caress was hateful; yet she felt it in all her traitorous veins.  Yes, she felt it, but with horror and repugnance.  It was something she wanted to escape from, and the fact of struggling against it was what made its hold so strong.  It was as though her mind were sounding her body to make sure of itsallegiance, spying on it for any secret movement of revolt.

To escape from the sensation, she rose and went again to thewindow.  No one was in sight.  But presently the gate began to swing back, and her heart gave a leap—­she knew not whether up ordown.  A moment later the gate opened slowly to admit a perambulator, propelled by the nurse and flanked by Juliet and Andora.  Lizzie’s eyes rested on the familiar group as if she hadnever seen it before, and she stood motionless, instead of flyingdown to meet the children.