Then she turned and came slowly back to the lounge from which she
had risen, and lay down quietly, shutting her eyes. Oh, the still
anguish of that pale, pinched face! Shall I ever be able to draw a
veil over its image in my mind?

Suddenly she started up. Her ear had caught the sound of the street
bell which had just been rung. She went hurriedly to the chamber
door, opened it, and stood out in the upper hall, listening.

"Who is it?" she asked, in a hoarse, eager under tone, as a servant
came up after answering the bell.

"Mrs. Gordon's man. He called to ask if we'd heard anything from Mr.
Albert yet."

Mrs. Martindale came back into her chamber with a whiter face and
unsteady steps, not replying. The servant stood looking after her
with a countenance in which doubt and pity were mingled; then turned
and went down stairs.

I did not go home until evening. All day the snow fell drearily, and
the wind sighed and moaned along the streets, or shrieked painfully
across sharp angles, or rattled with wild, impatience the loose
shutters that obstructed its way. Every hour had its breathless
suspense or nervous excitement. Messengers came and went
perpetually. As the news of Albert's prolonged absence spread among
his friends and the friends of the family, the circle of search and
inquiry became larger and the suspense greater. To prevent the
almost continual ringing of the bell, it was muffled, and a servant
stationed by the door to receive or answer all who came.