Then a new fear came upon her, the fear that Canterton might still be near, or that he would return. A book that she picked up could not hold her attention, and the old bent cane rocking-chair that she had used so often when she was feeling like a grown child, made her still more restless. She went over the house, reconsidering everything, the clothes laid out on the bed, the furniture she was to leave, and whether it would be worth her while to warehouse the rather ancient walnut-cased piano, with its fretwork and magenta-coloured satin front. She wrote labels, even started an inventory, but abandoned it as soon as she entered her mother’s room. The watch on her dressing-table told her that it was five-and-twenty minutes to four. Dawn would be with her before long, and the thought of the dawn made the little house seem dead and oppressive. She put on a pair of stout shoes, and, letting herself out into the garden, made her way to the orchard at the back of the house. It had grown very dark before the dawn, and the crooked apple trees were black outlines against an obscure sky. They made her think of bent, decrepit, sad old men. The grass had been scythed a month ago, and the young growth was wet with dew. Everything was deathly still. Not a leaf moved on the trees. It was like a world of the dead. She walked up and down for a long while before a vague greyness began to spread along the eastern horizon. A bird twittered. The foliage of the trees changed from black to an intense greyish blue. The fruit became visible—touches of gold, and maroon, and green. Eve could see the dew on the grass, the rust colour of the tiles on the roof, the white frames of the windows. A rabbit bolted across the orchard, and disappeared through the farther hedge. She stood watching, wondering, and her wonder went out to the man who had caused her to suffer this pain. How had the night gone with him? What was he doing? Had he slept? Was he suffering? And then the first flush of rose came into the pearl grey east. Great rays of light followed, diverging, making the clouds a chaos of purple and white. Presently Eve saw the sun appear, a glare of gold above the fir woods. She returned to the house, put on her hat and coat, made sure that she had her watch and purse, and carried her bag and her valise downstairs. She would leave Orchards Corner at half-past five, and there was time for a meal before she went. The girl had left dry wood ready on the kitchen stove. Eve boiled the kettle, made tea, and ate her breakfast at the kitchen table, listening all the while for any sound of the girl moving overhead. But the silence of the night still held. No one was to see her leave Orchards Corner.