knowledge he did not see her at all. He did not hear her. But he was vivid enough to her. She never forgot the sensation of his passing her; the free, swinging step; the erect head-carriage, and that rush of vitality which seemed to quicken the air about him as he moved. He turned down the angle of the passage, and she heard him go through the front door and shut it. The very clap of its shutting frightened her. That man was not made of the stuff which is easily mastered. If Jennifer had sent him away again, then there had been a battle first which her gentle heart quaked to think of.
Twice she went down to the closed door of the sitting-room, and twice she crept away again. Then, with sudden courage, she opened the door and went in. Jennifer sprang up with a sudden cry. Then, seeing her mother, she dropped back, trembling and trying to smile.
"Why, what a start you gave me, little mother," she said.
The elder mother came over, and took the cold hands and fondled them. Almost she was afraid to speak. It seemed as though her daughter were gone into a different world: a place where she could not follow; where she did not understand the language. Then, nervously, she said:
"Someone passed me just now in the passage, dear."
"Oh!" Jennifer drew in a long breath, and the colour came painfully back to her face.
"It was—it was Mr. Heriot, dear?"
"Yes, mother."
"Is he—do you expect him to come back again, Jennifer?"
"No, Mother."
Then suddenly Jennifer turned and flung her arms round her mother's neck.
"Hold me tight—tight," she sobbed. "Pretend I'm your little baby girl again, mumsie. Oh, hold me tight; mother, mother!"
