Without realizing it, Rachel dropped at last into a troubled sleep, from which she was aroused by a rap on the door. "Oh, has he gone?" she cried, starting to her feet, and she pushed back the hair from her face. "Has Simon gone?" The very possibility that her husband already had started for the city, in view of her resolution, seemed to her a tragedy. Emily, after a short, sharp inspection of her, laid a pile of freshly-ironed linen on a chair. "Yes," she answered, "he knocked at your door, but you gave no sign and he didn't like to disturb you. Peter was slow harnessing and Mr. Hart was afraid he wouldn't make the train, but he must have made it or he'd be back by now. It is after eight o'clock." Rachel sank into her chair with huddled knees. She looked as if she never intended to move again. Emily took her wrist. "Wouldn't you like your coffee here?" Rachel looked up at her stupidly. Emily repeated the question; she even broke into scolding as she brought a loose gown to the other and insisted on her removing her dress. But once outside the door, Emily extended both hands as if appealing to a protective Providence. "A nice state of things!" she muttered, with an expression of mingled pain, indignation and perfect comprehension. But when she appeared with the breakfast tray a few moments later she was as stern of aspect as before. After shaking out a table-cloth, she placed the tray on a little stand at Rachel's elbow. But Rachel turned away. With her head propped on her two hands, she stared in front of her; and nothing Emily could say served to draw her from this state. That morning the little toy-maker could not work as usual. A tiny parachute was very nearly ruined by an ill-directed movement of the shears; and a piece of green satin for the aeronaut's coat was utterly spoiled by tears, which she scorned to notice, falling upon it. She was so upset that more than once the utensils of her craft rolled on the floor while her hands dropped to her knees. To herself Emily fiercely denied any attraction in Emil and she praised staunchly every one of Simon Hart's qualities. About one o'clock Rachel, after refusing luncheon, left the house for a walk; and Emily, having satisfied herself that the other went to the beach, lay down on her bed. "Let her tire herself out; it is the best thing she can do," Emily murmured, and dropped asleep, with a tear standing in a furrow under one eye. The caretaker, who served in the capacity of cook, in company with her husband and the other servants, was spending the day with friends and would not return until late; even Peter, the coachman, was away for the afternoon. Meanwhile, in this house far removed from the city, the stillness which is peculiar to the Sabbath, deepened. Rachel walked the beach. She sat down, but immediately rose again. Not only her own life, but all the life about her seemed suspended.