Evelyn ate nothing, and her hand trembled so much when she poured out a glass of water that she spilled some on the cloth. I saw Charles was watching her furtively, and I became more and more certain that Aurelia was right, and that Evelyn knew something about the mystery of the night before. I must and would speak to her that very evening. "Bitterly cold," said Ralph, when at last we had reached the dessert stage. "It is snowing still, and the wind is getting up." In truth, the wind was moaning round the house like an uneasy spirit. "That sound in the wind always means snow," said Charles, evidently for the sake of saying something. "It is easterly, I should think. Yes," after a pause, when another silence seemed imminent, "there goes the eight o'clock train. It must be quite a quarter of an hour late, though, for it has struck eight some time. I can hear it distinctly. The station is three miles away, and you never hear the train unless the wind is in the east." "Come, Charles, not three miles--two miles and a half," put in Ralph. "Well, two and a half from here down to the station, but certainly three from the station up here," replied Charles; and so silence was laboriously avoided by diligent small-talk until we returned to the drawing-room, thankful that there at least we could take up a book, and be silent if we wished. We all did wish it, apparently. Evelyn was sitting by a lamp when we came in, with a book before her, her elbow on the table, shading her face with a slender delicate hand. She remained motionless, her eyes fixed upon the page, but I noticed after some time that she had never turned it over. Charles may have read his newspaper, but if he did it was with one eye upon Evelyn all the time. Between watching them both I did not, as may be imagined, make much progress myself. How was I to manage to speak to Evelyn alone, and without Charles's knowledge? At last Ralph, who had gone into the morning-room, opened the drawing-room door and put his head in. "Aurelia has not come down yet, and it is a quarter past nine. I wish you would run up, Evelyn, and see if she is coming." "She is sure to come!" replied Evelyn, without raising her eyes. "She said she _must_ see you." Ralph disappeared again, and the books and papers were studied anew with unswerving devotion. At the end of another ten minutes, however, the impatient lover reappeared. "It is half-past nine," he said, in an injured tone. "Do pray run up, Evelyn. I don't think she can be coming at all. I am afraid she is worse." Evelyn laid down her book and left the room. Ralph sauntered back into the morning-room, where we heard him beguiling his solitude with a few chords on the piano. Presently Evelyn returned. She was pale even to the lips, and her voice faltered as she said: "She has not gone to bed, for there is a light in her room; but she would not answer when I knocked, and the door is locked."