"No, it is not Ethne," Mrs. Adair answered quickly. Durrance drew back a
step from the window, and for a little while was silent.
"Where has she gone?" he asked at length.
"Into the garden. She ran across the terrace and down the steps very
quickly and silently. I saw her from my chair. Then I heard you speaking
alone."
"Can you see her now in the garden?"
"No; she went across the lawn towards the trees and their great shadows.
There is only the moonlight in the garden now."
Durrance stepped across the window sill and stood by the side of Mrs.
Adair. The last slip which Ethne had made betrayed her inevitably to the
man who had grown quick. There could be only one reason for her sudden
unexplained and secret flight. He had told her that Feversham had
wandered south from Wadi Halfa into the savage country; he had spoken
out his fears as to Feversham's fate without reserve, thinking that she
had forgotten him, and indeed rather inclined to blame her for the
callous indifference with which she received the news. The callousness
was a mere mask, and she had fled because she no longer had the strength
to hold it up before her face. His first suspicions had been right.
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