* * * * *
The next thing of which she was aware was Maggie bending over her.
"Asleep, Auntie dear?" said the girl softly.
The old lady murmured something. Then she sat up, suddenly.
"No, my dear. Have you finished dinner?"
"Yes, Auntie."
"Where's Laurie? I should like to see him for a minute."
"Not tonight, Auntie; you're too tired. Besides, I think he's gone to the smoking-room."
She acquiesced placidly.
"Very well, dearest.... Oh! Maggie, such a queer thing happened just now--when you were at dinner."
"Yes?"
"I thought I saw Laurie look in, just for an instant. But he looked awful, somehow. It was just one of my little waking visions I've told you of, I suppose."
The girl was silent; but the old lady saw her suddenly straighten herself.
"Just ask him whether he did look in, after all. It may just have been the shadow on his face."
"What time was it?"
"About ten past eight, I suppose, dearest. You'll ask him, won't you?"
"Yes, Auntie.... I think I'd better lock your door when I go out. You won't fancy such things then, will you?"
"Very well, dearest. As you think best."
The old voice was becoming sleepy again: and Maggie stood watching a moment or two longer.
"Send Charlotte to me, dearest.... Good night, my pet.... I'm too sleepy again. My love to Laurie."
"Yes, Auntie."
The old lady felt the girl's warm lips on her forehead. They seemed to linger a little. Then Mrs. Baxter lost herself once more.
IV
The public bar of the Wheatsheaf Inn was the scene this evening of a lively discussion. Some thought the old gentleman, arrived that day from London, to be a new kind of commercial traveler, with designs upon the gardens of the gentry; others that he was a sort of scientific collector; others, again, that he was a private detective; and since there was no evidence at all, good or bad, in support of any one of these suggestions, a very pretty debate became possible.
A silence fell when his step was heard to pass down the stairs and out into the street, and another half an hour later when he returned. Then once more the discussion began.
At ten o'clock the majority of the men moved out into the moonlight to disperse homewards, as the landlord began to put away the glasses and glance at the clock. Overhead the lighted blind showed where the mysterious stranger still kept vigil; and over the way, beyond the still leafless trees, towered up the twisted chimneys of Mrs. Baxter's house. No word had been spoken connecting the two, yet one or two of the men glanced across the way in vague surmise.