thoughts were much as they had been the night before she left
Castle Marleigh. Where was he? Why came he not? She took up
a book of plays that lay upon the table, and sought to while
away the time by reading. The afternoon faded into dusk, and
still he did not come. Her woman appeared, to ask whether she
should call for lights and at that Cynthia became almost
violent

"Where is Sir Crispin?" she demanded. And to the dame's
quavering answer that she knew not, she angrily bade her go
ascertain.

In a pet, Cynthia paced the chamber whilst Catherine was gone
upon that errand. Did this man account her a toy to while away
the hours for which he could find no more profitable diversion,
and to leave her to die of ennui when aught else offered? Was
it a small thing that he had asked of her, to go with him into
a strange land, that he should show himself so little sensible
of the honour done him?

With such questions did she plague herself, and finding them
either unanswerable, or answerable only by affirmatives, she
had well-nigh resolved upon leaving the inn, and making her way
back to London to seek out her aunt, when the door opened and
her woman reappeared.

"Well?" cried Cynthia, seeing her alone. "Where is Sir
Crispin?"

"Below, madam."