And Faith at first had been lost in her study. But the sounding of eight o'clock struck on more than the air, and she found, though she tried, she could not shut herself up in her book any more. Mrs. Derrick slept profoundly; her breathing only made the house seem more still. Faith went to the window to look, and then for freer breath and vision went to the door. It was not moonlight; only the light of the stars was abroad, and that still further softened by the haze or a mistiness of the air which made it thicker still. Faith could see little, and could hear nothing, though eyes and ears tried well to penetrate the still darkness of the road, up and down. It was too chill to stay at the porch, now with this mist in the air; and reluctantly she came back to the sitting-room, her mother sleeping on the sofa, her open study book under the lamp, the Chinese lantern in its packing paper. Faith had no wish to open it now. There was no reason to fear anything, that she knew; neither was she afraid; but neither could she rest. Half past eight struck. She went to the window again, and very gravely sat down by it. She had sat there but few minutes when there came a rush of steps into the porch, and Cindy burst into the little sitting-room, almost too out of breath to speak. "Here's a proclamation!" she said--"Mr. Linden's been shot at dreadful, and Jem Waters is down to fetch Dr. Harrison. I'm free to confess they say he aint dead yet." With which pleasing announcement, Cindy rushed off again, out of the room and out of the house, being seized with a sudden fear that Jem Waters would forestall her in spreading the news. The noise had awaked Mrs. Derrick, and she sat looking at Faith as if she was first in her thoughts. Faith stood before her with a colourless face, but perfectly quiet, though at first she looked at her mother without speaking. "Come here, pretty child," said her mother, "and sit down by me." "Mother," said Faith,--but she would not have known her own voice,--"something has happened." But the way Mrs. Derrick's arms came round her, said that she too had heard. "Where can he be, mother?" said Faith gently disengaging herself. "I don't know, child." Faith was already at the door. "Faith!" her mother said, following her with a quick step,--"stop, child!" Faith put back a hand as if to stop _her_--she was listening. There was not a sound. Faith went down the steps and stood at the gate. Not a sound still; and her mother said softly, "Faith, you must not go out." She put one hand on her mother's arm, and clasping it stood without stirring; her other hand on the gate. In mingled sorrow and fear her mother stood, not knowing well what to do or what to say,--in that emergency where woman can only endure--where she is powerless but to suffer. Faith stood without moving head or hand. And so they remained, they knew not how long, until Cindy once more presented herself and told her story more at length.