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Chapter 8

           Stilllower,beyondtheturnofthestaircase,onecouldhearthefootstepofsomeoneinthickfeltboots,andavoicethatseemedfamiliartoPrincessMarywassayingsomething.

           “ThankGod!”saidthevoice.“AndFather?”

           “Gonetobed,”repliedthevoiceofDemyánthehousesteward,whowasdownstairs.

           Thenthevoicesaidsomethingmore,Demyánreplied,andthestepsinthefeltbootsapproachedtheunseenbendofthestaircasemorerapidly.

           “It’sAndrew!”thoughtPrincessMary.“Noitcan’tbe,thatwouldbetooextraordinary,”andattheverymomentshethoughtthis,thefaceandfigureofPrinceAndrew,inafurcloakthedeepcollarofwhichcoveredwithsnow,appearedonthelandingwherethefootmanstoodwiththecandle.Yes,itwashe,pale,thin,withachangedandstrangelysoftenedbutagitatedexpressiononhisface.Hecameupthestairsandembracedhissister.

           “Youdidnotgetmyletter?”heasked,andnotwaitingforareply—whichhewouldnothavereceived,fortheprincesswasunabletospeak—heturnedback,rapidlymountedthestairsagainwiththedoctorwhohadenteredthehallafterhim(theyhadmetatthelastpoststation),andagainembracedhissister.

           “Whatastrangefate,Máshadarling!”Andhavingtakenoffhiscloakandfeltboots,hewenttothelittleprincess’apartment.

           

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