The next day Mrs. Coleman wondered
whether, after all, he would repent; but the evening came and she
waited and waited in vain. The poor woman for hours and hours had
thought one thought and one thought only, until at last she could
bear it no longer. At about eight o'clock she rose, put on her
cloak, and went out of doors. She made straight for Caillaud's
house. It was cold, and the sky was clear at intervals, with masses
of clouds sweeping over the nearly full moon. What she was to do
when she got to Caillaud's had not entered her head. She came to the
door and stopped. It had just begun to rain heavily. The sitting-
room was on the ground-floor, abutting on the pavement. The blind
was drawn down, but not closely, and she could see inside. Caillaud
Pauline, and Zachariah were there, but not the Major. Caillaud was
sitting by the fireside; her husband and Pauline were talking
earnestly across the table. Apparently both of them were much
interested, and his face was lighted up as she never saw it when he
was with her. She was fascinated, and could not move. It was a dull
lonely street and nobody was to be seen that wet night. She had no
protection from the weather but her cloak, and in ten minutes, as the
rain came down more heavily, she was wet through and shivering from
head to foot--she who was usually so careful, so precise, so
singularly averse from anything like disorder.
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