But he had done none of these things. There was no answer to her prayer. If he never guessed, never turned, she would know that she meant nothing to him at all. The soup was getting cold. She fretted, battling with the fire. Harriet would be annoyed if their labour was wasted, and he seemed too deep in his reading to remember that she had brought him food. Nervously she pushed the basin up the table within reach of his hand, and went back to her task. When she looked round again, it was empty, and he had buried himself afresh in his paper. After the thrill of joy that she had at least given him some shred of comfort came the renewed certainty that he was quite unconscious of the giver. It was more than plain that she was outside his thoughts altogether. The fire was crackling merrily now, and with a last strained hope that he might yet know her, she began to gather the papers into a corner, but before she had set the last on the pile, she saw him stir as if distressed and irritated through his absorption by her quiet movements. She stopped instantly, then, and moved to the door, yet slowly, and looking towards him, and all the way her heart was begging, begging for a sign. She knew that all these months her little taper of hope had burnt bravely, bending at times to the wind of disappointment, but always brightening and glowing. Now it was dying. By the time she reached the door it would be dead. Yet she would not call, nor speak aloud the words that the soul only could utter and its twin-soul only should hear. Even a commonplace he might possibly resent in this his trouble. He had said she did not understand. He might certainly say it now, if, in her ignorance of the real conditions, she tried to comfort him. She could only speak to him dumbly from her heart, and he did not hear. His home, his resting-place, were at hand, and he held his face from them. The little torch flickered low. The handle turned, and turned again. Outside the door Dandy stood, hugging her dead candle. * * * * * Hamer came in like an anxious bear in his large coat, and found her there. “All alone?” he asked, stooping to kiss her. “Where’s the boy?” “In the office. Miss Lancaster is upstairs. She seems rather upset.” “That so? Poor little woman! I’ll go up and have a look at her. She wants stroking a bit, I reckon. Can you wait any longer, little girl, or are you aching to get home? I’d like just to have a word with the boy, if he’ll see me.” “Yes--do. I don’t mind how long I wait.” “I’ll get Miss Lancaster down to keep you company.” He stopped, his foot on the first stair, lowering his voice. “Does the boy look bad, Dandy Anne?” She nodded. “I doubt he’ll take it terribly hard--worse than anybody else would have done. He didn’t say anything to you, I suppose?” “No. Nothing.” (And, verily--nothing!)