There, as five o'clock drew near, she waited in painful agitation.

What it was Mallard's purpose to say to her she could not with any degree of certainty conjecture.

Had Reuben told him of the part she had played in connection with that eventful day at Pompeii?
What would be his tone?
Did he come to ask for particulars concerning her brother?
Intend what he might, she dreaded the interview.

And yet--fact of which she made no secret to herself--she had rather he came than not.

When it was a few minutes past five, and no foot had yet sounded in the corridor, all other feeling was lost in the misgiving that he might have changed his mind.
Perhaps he had decided to write instead, and her heart sank at the thought.