In this tumult of broken and incoherent thought, the night passed. It
was not until dawn that her mind cleared enough for consecutive
thinking, and when it did she was so fatigued that she fell asleep and
slept heavily till awakened by an anxious knock at her door. Had Mrs.
Richie one of her headaches? Should Sarah bring her some coffee?
"Why, what time is it? Has David gone to school? What! ten o'clock!"
She was broad awake at that--he must have got the despatch. Allowing
for delays, his answer ought to reach her by noon.
She sprang up with the instinct to do something to get ready! She
began to plan her packing, the thrill of action tingling through her.
She dressed hurriedly, looking incessantly at the clock, and then
laughing to herself. What difference did it make how late it was? By
no possibility could Lloyd appear on the morning stage; unless, yes,
it was possible; Mr. Raynor might have telegraphed him. No; Mr.
Raynor had never recognized the situation. Lloyd could not reach her
until noon on Saturday; he could only telegraph. She sighed and
resigned herself to facts, drinking the coffee Sarah brought her, and
asking whether David was all right. "Poor darling, having his
breakfast all alone," she said. Then she looked at the clock; Lloyd's
despatch could hardly arrive for another hour.
The still, hot morning stretched interminably before her. A dozen
times it was on her lips to order the trunks brought down from the
garret. A dozen times some undefined sense of fitness held her back.
When his answer came, when he actually said the word--then; but not
till then.... What time was it? After eleven! She would go into the
garden, where she could look down the road and have the first glimpse
of Eddy Minns climbing the hill. With her thoughts in galloping
confusion, she put on her flat hat with its twist of white lace about
the crown, and went out into the heat. From the bench under the big
poplar she looked across at the girdling hills, blue and hot in the
still flood of noon; below her was the valley, now a sea of treetops
islanded with Old Chester roofs and chimneys; there was no gleam of
the river through the midsummer foliage. She took her watch out of the
little watch-pocket at her waist--nearly twelve! If he had got the
despatch at nine, it was surely time for an answer. Still, so many
things might have happened to delay it. He might have been late in
getting to his office; or, for that matter, Eddy Minns might be slow
about coming up the hill. Everybody was slow in Old Chester!