the hour of ten. He waited, glad of the chance to warm himself before the crackling birch logs.
At last a little door opened under the stairs, and the tall old woman looked in, smiling, to wish him a good-morning.
"Miss Helen said," she announced, "that you must n 't mind eating alone, sir. She and Mr. Powell won't be down till later." Something in the situation had fluttered and embarrassed this good creature, who nearly spilled the coffee when she brought it in. So at an excellent breakfast he found himself alone, and vastly disappointed. All the morning he sat about, watching by turns the fire within doors, the white void without, and fidgeting more than he had ever believed possible. At one time a voice overhead somewhere continued steadily as in reading aloud; he could only hope that if Helen was helping her father to pass the forenoon, she did not do it too willingly. When the voice stopped, and still no one came downstairs, he flung outdoors in disgust, and wandered down the little path in a misty profusion of bright flowers.
