"It may be very late," he stammered.

"I'll wait until you come," she said simply, "no matter what time. I'll
wait. But you'll surely come, Lloyd?"

He hesitated a moment and then, before the power of her eyes: "I'll surely
come," he promised, and a moment later he was gone.

Then the hours passed, anxious, ominous hours! Ten, eleven, twelve! And
still Alice waited for her lover, silencing Mother Bonneton's grumblings
with a look that this hard old woman had once or twice seen in the girl's
face and had learned to respect. At half past twelve a carriage sounded in
the quiet street, then a quick step on the stairs. Kittredge had kept his
word.

The door was opened by Mother Bonneton, very sleepy and arrayed in a
wrapper of purple and gold pieced together from discarded altar coverings.
She eyed the young man sternly but said nothing, for Alice was at her back
holding the lamp and there was something in the American's face, something
half reckless, half appealing, that startled her. She felt the cold breath
of a sinister happening and regretted Bonneton's absence at the church.

"Well, I'm here," said Kittredge with a queer little smile. "I couldn't
come any sooner and--I can't stay."

The girl questioned him with frightened eyes. "Isn't it over yet?"

He looked at her sharply. "I don't know what you mean by 'it,' but, as a
matter of fact, _it_ hasn't begun yet. If you have any questions you'd
better ask 'em."