To-night she could not be sure whether he slept or no. She watched him,
and the whole world seemed to hold its breath. Suddenly an absurd fancy
seized her. She fought against it for a time, sitting there, her hands
tightly clenched. Then suddenly it overcame her. Some one was listening
outside the window; she fancied that she could see him--tall, dark, lean,
his face pressed against the pane.
She rose very softly and stole across the floor, very gently drew back one
of the curtains and looked out. It was dark and she could see nothing--
only the Cathedral like a grey web against a sky black as ink. A lamp,
across the Green, threw a splash of orange in the middle distance--no
other light. The Cathedral seemed to be very close to the house.
She closed the curtain and then heard her father call her.
"Joan! Joan! Where are you?"
She came back and stood by his chair. "I was only looking out to see what
sort of a night it was, father dear," she said.
He suddenly smiled. "I had a pleasant little nap then," he said; "my
head's better. There. Sit down close to me.
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