flashed through her; and, because she had never heard herself thinking and doubting and wondering so swiftly, she grew still more frightened in her loneliness, while the storm howled more furiously outside. And the silent lamps flickered so violently in her drawing-room—in a sort of passionate draught—that she suddenly rushed staggering to the door. She went up the stairs; and it was as though the storm would break the little villa to pieces with one blow of its angry wing . . .
She went to Addie's room; her hand was on the door-handle; she turned it. She saw her boy working at his table and Van der Welcke smoking in the easy-chair. She gave a start, because he was there, and she looked deathly pale, with terrified, quivering eyes.
"Mamma!"
"My boy, I'm frightened; listen to the storm! . . ."
"Yes, did you ever see such weather?" asked Van der Welcke, through the clouds of his cigarette.
"Are you frightened, Mamma?"
"Yes, my boy, my Addie . . . I'm frightened . . . I'm frightened . . ."
"And shall your boy keep you safe, safe from the wind?"
"Yes, my darling, keep me safe!" she said, with a wan little laugh. "For I'm really, really frightened . . . I've been sitting alone downstairs . . .
