"You have eaten no supper, dearie," Mrs. Robson remarks, glancing at the untasted dainties upon the tea-tray that she had brought up two hours before. "No," the captive answers, with a weary sigh, and relapses into silence. "There's a storm coming. Do you hear the wind howl, and the rain beating on the windows?" remarks Mrs. Robson, to break the spell of the dreary, brooding silence. Lady Vera, turning her head listlessly a moment, listens aimlessly to the wail of the autumn wind moaning like a voice in human pain around the ruined gables of the house. "It is a wild night," she answers, drearily. "What time is it, Mrs. Robson?" "It is nigh onto eleven o'clock," the woman answers, consulting the broad-faced silver watch stuck in her belt; then, curiously: "You've never asked me that question afore since here you've been, my dearie. Why do you do so now?" "When the hours of life are few, one is fain to count them," Lady Vera answers, with subdued bitterness. And again there ensues a silence, filled up by the wild voice of the wind that has now increased to a gale. The furious rush of the rain is distinctly audible; a flash of lightning quivers into the room in spite of the shielding curtains. "Mrs. Robson, I believe I am going to die. When your cruel master comes, he will find that his captive has escaped him, after all," Lady Vera says, weakly, and with a faint triumph in her voice. Before Mrs. Robson can reply, there comes a hasty, thundering rap on the hall door that brings her screaming to her feet. It is thrice repeated before her frightened senses return. At that strange and unexpected sound, Lady Vera, as if endowed with new strength, starts up to a sitting posture in the bed. Instead of being startled by the noise, she seems to rejoice in it. Her eyes flash with new life. "Go, Mrs. Robson," she exclaims. "Do you not hear the knocking? Someone is come." "Who can it be, this dreadful night? Do you think it could be Mr. Noble?" exclaims the woman, timorously. "God forbid!" exclaims Countess Vera, passionately. "I pray that it may be some friend of mine who has come to bring me deliverance." But Mrs. Robson, by this, has begun to revive her scattered wits. "Of course it's my master, Mr. Noble. How foolish I was for a moment. I am main glad that he has come at last," she declares, eagerly, and hastening to leave the room, though not forgetting to lock the door after her as usual. Countess Vera waits in an agony of suspense for five almost anguished minutes, then footsteps mount the stairs toward her chamber. Mrs. Robson, opening the door, ushers in Leslie Noble. At the sight of that hated face, at the wild revulsion from ardent hope to absolute despair, Countess Vera utters a heart-wrung cry and falls weakly backward. CHAPTER XLVI.