The door swung back at last, and she saw a man in high-riding boots and slouched hat standing on the threshold, while in the moonlight behind him she could distinguish a mounted groom holding the bridle of a led horse, as well as the horse from which the visitor had just dismounted. The face that looked at her from the doorway was the face which had haunted her with cruel persistency through that long day, chaining her thoughts to earth. Fareham stood looking at her for a few moments, deadly pale, while she was collecting her senses, trying to understand this most unlooked-for presence. Why was he here? Ah, no doubt, a messenger of evil. “Oh, sir, my sister is ill!” she cried; “I read sorrow in your face—seriously ill—dangerously? Speak, my lord, for pity’s sake!” “Yes, she is ill.” “Not dead?” “No, no.” “But very ill? Oh, I feared, I feared when I saw her that there was something amiss. Has she sent you to fetch me?” “Yes; you are wanted.” “Reuben, I must set out this instant. Order the coach to be got ready. And Betty must go with me.” “You will need no coach, Angela. Nor is there time to spare for any such creeping conveyance. I have brought Zephyr. You remember how you loved him. He is swift, and gentle as the wind after which we named him; sure of foot, easy to ride. The roads are good after yesterday’s rain, and the moon will last us most of our way. We shall be at Chilton in two hours. Put on your coat and hat. Indeed, there is no time to be lost.” “Do you mean that she may die before I can reach her?” “I know not,” stamping his foot impatiently. “Fate holds the keys. But you had best waste no time on questions.” His manner was one of command, and he seemed to apprehend no possibility of hesitation on her part. Reuben ran to his pantry, and came back with a tankard of wine, which he offered to the visitor with tremulous respect, almost ready to kneel. “Our best Burgundy, my lord. Your lordship must be dry after your long ride; and if your lordship would care to sup, there is good picking on last Monday’s chine, and a capon from madam’s supper scarce touched with the carving-knife.” “Nothing, I thank you, friend. There is no time for gluttony.” Reuben, pressing the tankard upon him, he drank some wine with an automatic air, and still stood with his eyes fixed on Angela’s pallid countenance, waiting her decision. “Are you coming?” he asked. “Does she want me? Has she asked for me? Oh, for God’s sake, my lord, tell me more! Is she dangerously ill? Have the doctors given her over?” “No. But she is in a bad way. And you—you—you—are wanted. Will you come? Ay or no?” “Yes. It is my duty to go to her. But when my father and Denzil come back to-morrow, Reuben must be able to tell them why I went; and the nature of my sister’s illness. Were it not so serious that there is no time for hesitation, it would ill become me to leave this house in my father’s absence.”