firstopportunity
to
leave
this
place
;
a
month
or
more
is
gone
since
then
.
Surely
the
most
exacting
mistress
could
spare
you
for
awhile
now
?
Why
have
you
broken
your
word
,
then
?
Why
are
you
here
?
"
He
is
silent
for
a
few
moments
,
questioning
his
own
soul
—
questioning
that
conscience
whose
monitions
he
has
hitherto
so
stoutly
resisted
.
Then
he
speaks
,
a
flush
of
shame
making
red
his
bronzed
cheek
:
"
Because
I
have
been
dishonest
to
myself
and
to
you
.
This
place
has
had
an
attraction
for
me
which
I
see
now
it
would
not
have
had
had
she
only
been
here
.
I
linger
about
it
as
a
man
lingers
about
the
churchyard
where
his
one
hope
lies
buried
.
"
"
Do
n't
linger
any
longer
,
then
,
"
she
cries
,
passionately
,
taking
his
hand
between
both
hers
;
"
do
n't
be
dishonest
any
more
!
Tell
yourself
the
truth
,
if
you
tell
no
one
else
,
and
go
at
once
,
before
it
is
too
late
;
for
if
you
wo
n't
,
I
must
!
"
She
is
weeping
freely
as
she
speaks
;
her
tears
drop
hot
and
slow
,
one
after
another
,
upon
his
hand
.
He
flings
himself
on
his
knees
beside
her
,
his
mastery
over
himself
reeling
in
the
strong
rush
of
long-pent
passion
.
"
You
tell
me
to
go
,
"
he
says
,
in
a
voice
choked
and
altered
with
emotion
,
"
and
in
the
very
act
of
telling
me
you
cry
.
Which
am
I
to
believe
,
your
words
or
your
tears
?
"
"
My
words
,
"
she
answers
,
trying
to
speak
collectedly
,
and
by
gaining
calmness
herself
to
bring
it
back
to
him
.
"
I
have
been
dishonourable
once
—
you
know
it
;
do
n't
let
me
have
the
remorse
of
thinking
that
I
made
an
honourable
man
palter
with
temptation
—
made
him
sully
his
honour
for
me
.
If
I
am
the
inducement
that
keeps
you
here
,
go
;
for
my
sake
,
go
!
I
say
it
a
hundred
times
;
promise
me
you
will
go
—
soon
,
this
week
.
Let
me
hear
you
swear
it
;
you
will
not
break
your
oath
,
I
know
!
"
He
is
silent
;
hesitating
to
take
that
step
of
irrevocable
banishment
—
banishment
from
the
woman
that
he
cast
away
in
righteous
wrath
,
and
in
whose
frail
life
his
own
now
seems
to
be
bound
up
.
"
Swear
!
"
she
says
again
,
earnestly
,
with
a
resolute
look
in
her
soft
face
.
"
I
beg
it
of
you
as
a
favour
;
for
if
you
wo
n't
,
though
my
only
chance
of
daily
bread
lies
here
,
I
must
go
to-night
.
"
The
determination
in
her
voice
recalls
him
to
his
senses
.
"
I
will
not
drive
you
to
such
extremities
,
"
he
says
,
coldly
.
"
Give
me
only
till
to-morrow
morning
—
twenty-four
hours
cannot
make
much
difference
to
you
,
and
a
man
going
to
be
hanged
likes
to
have
a
little
respite
—
give
me
till
to-
morrow
,
and
I
will
swear
whatever
you
wish
.
"
"
That
is
right
,
"
she
answers
,
trying
to
smile
through
her
tears
.
"
Some
day
you
will
thank
me
;
you
will
say
,
'
She
was
a
bad
girl
,
but
she
did
me
one
good
turn
!
'
"
The
people
are
flocking
out
of
church
;
the
squire
,
in
a
low
pony-chaise
,
driven
by
a
groom
as
old
and
toothless
as
himself
,
and
drawn
by
a
pony
(
considering
the
comparative
ages
of
horses
and
men
)
also
nearly
as
old
,
is
bowling
gently
up
the
drive
.
"
I
must
go
,
"
Esther
says
,
rising
hastily
;
"
Mrs.
Blessington
hates
red
eyes
as
she
hates
a
black
dress
,
and
for
the
same
reason
!
"
CHAPTER
XXXVIII
.
AT
Blessington
no
one
goes
to
church
twice
.
It
is
the
bounden
duty
of
every
Christian
man
,
woman
,
and
child
to
go
to
church
in
the
morning
;
it
is
the
duty
of
only
the
clergyman
,
the
school-children
,
and
the
organist
to
go
to
church
in
the
afternoon
.
The
old
people
sleep
side
by
side
in
the
blaze
of
the
saloon-fire
;
being
,
both
of
them
,
happily
deaf
,
they
are
undisturbed
by
each
other
's
grunts
and
snores
.
Since
the
beginning
of
St.
John
's
visit
,
the
north
drawing-room
has
been
made
over
to
him
and
his
betrothed
to
be
affectionate
in
,
so
that
they
may
enjoy
,
uninterrupted
,
those
fits
of
affection
to
which
all
engaged
people
are
supposed
,
and
sometimes
unjustly
supposed
,
to
be
liable
.
Whether
they
have
reached
the
requisite
pitch
of
warmth
on
the
afternoon
I
speak
of
is
,
to
say
the
least
,
doubtful
;
but
,
all
the
same
,
in
the
north
drawing-room
they
are
.
Constance
leans
back
in
an
armchair
,
rather
listless
.
She
is
fond
of
work
,
and
it
is
not
right
to
work
on
Sunday
:
her
feet
repose
on
a
foot-stool
before
her
—
her
eyes
are
fixed
upon
them
:
she
is
thinking
profoundly
whether
steel
buckles
a
size
smaller
than
the
ones
she
is
at
present
wearing
would
not
be
more
becoming
to
the
feet
.
St.
John
sits
by
the
table
;
his
left
hand
supports
his
head
;
his
right
scribbles
idly
,
on
a
bit
of
paper
,
horses
taking
impossible
fences
,
prize
pigs
,
ballet-girls
,
little
skeleton
men
squaring
up
at
one
another
.
He
,
too
,
is
thinking
—
but
not
of
shoe-buckles
.
He
has
got
something
to
say
to
Miss
Blessington
—
something
unpleasant
,
unpolite
;
and
he
cannot
,
for
the
life
of
him
,
imagine
how
to
begin
to
say
it
.
Chance
favours
him
.
Miss
Blessington
,
happening
to
look
up
,
catches
her
lover
's
eyes
fixed
,
with
an
expression
she
had
never
before
seen
in
them
—
not
on
herself
,
as
she
,
for
the
first
second
imagines
,
but
(
as
a
second
glance
informs
her
)
on
some
object
outside
the
window
.
Her
gaze
follows
his
,
and
lights
upon
"
nobody
very
particular
—
only
poor
Miss
Craven
!
"
who
,
with
head
rather
bent
,
is
trudging
by
towards
the
garden
.
"
How
ill
that
girl
looks
!
"
she
says
,
pettishly
.
"
I
really
believe
those
sort
of
people
take
a
pleasure
in
looking
as
sickly
and
woebegone
as
possible
,
in
order
to
put
one
out
of
spirits
.
"
The
opening
he
has
been
looking
for
has
come
.
"
Constance
,
"
he
says
,
bending
his
head
,
and
speaking
in
a
low
voice
,
"
what
fatuity
induced
you
not
to
send
me
word
when
you
found
that
that
girl
was
here
?
"
"
You
forbad
me
ever
to
mention
her
name
to
you
,
"
she
answers
,
coldly
;
"
and
,
to
tell
you
the
truth
,
I
thought
it
was
a
good
thing
that
you
should
see
her
.
If
you
had
not
met
again
,
you
might
have
carried
a
sentimental
recollection
of
her
throughout
life
,
which
you
can
hardly
do
now
that
you
have
seen
with
your
own
eyes
how
completely
she
has
lost
her
beauty
.
"
St.
John
lifts
his
head
,
and
stares
at
her
in
blank
astonishment
.
"
Lost
its
beauty
!
"
—
that
"
Face
that
one
would
see
,
And
then
fall
blind
,
and
die
,
with
sight
of
it
,
Held
fast
between
the
eyelids
.
"
"
Lost
her
beauty
!
"
he
repeats
,
in
a
sort
of
stupefaction
.
"
Well
,
"
she
replies
,
languidly
,
"
why
do
you
repeat
my
words
?
You
know
I
never
admired
her
much
.
I
never
can
admire
those
black
women
,
but
that
is
a
matter
of
taste
,
of
course
.
It
is
not
matter
of
taste
,
however
—
it
is
matter
of
fact
,
that
whatever
good
looks
she
once
had
are
gone
—
gone
.
"
Gerard
smiles
contemptuously
.
"
I
do
believe
that
you
women
lose
the
sight
of
your
eyes
when
you
look
at
one
another
.
"
"
What
do
you
mean
?
"
she
asks
,
with
some
animation
.
"
Is
it
possible
that
you
do
n't
agree
with
me
as
to
her
being
quite
passée
?
"
"
I
think
her
,
as
I
always
thought
her
,
"
he
answers
,
steadily
,
"
the
loveliest
woman
I
ever
beheld
;
a
little
additional
thinness
or
paleness
does
not
affect
her
much
.
Hers
is
not
mere
skin
beauty
:
as
you
say
,
tastes
differ
,
and
I
like
those
black
women
.
"
"
That
is
a
civil
speech
to
make
to
me
!
"
she
answers
,
reddening
—
an
insult
to
her
appearance
or
her
clothes
being
the
one
weapon
that
has
power
to
pierce
the
scales
of
her
armour
of
proof
.
St.
John
smiles
again
.
"
When
we
engaged
to
marry
one
another
,
did
we
also
engage
to
think
each
other
the
handsomest
specimens
of
the
human
animal
Providence
ever
framed
?
"
"
It
is
,
at
least
,
not
usual
for
a
man
to
express
an
open
preference
for
another
woman
to
the
girl
to
whom
he
is
engaged
.
"
"
It
is
no
question
of
preference
,
"
he
answers
,
quietly
.
"
I
had
no
thought
of
drawing
any
comparison
between
you
and
Miss
Craven
at
the
moment
;
I
was
not
thinking
of
you
.
"
"
You
said
she
was
the
loveliest
girl
you
had
ever
seen
!
"
objects
Constance
,
pouting
.
"
So
I
did
—
I
do
think
her
so
,
"
he
rejoins
,
calmly
.
"
If
there
is
some
defect
in
my
eyes
,
hindering
me
from
seeing
things
as
they
are
,
it
is
my
misfortune
,
not
my
fault
.
Cannot
you
be
content
,
"
he
asks
,
banteringly
,
"
with
being
the
next
loveliest
?
"
She
turns
away
her
head
,
too
indignant
to
answer
.
He
changes
his
tone
.
"
Constance
,
"
he
says
,
gravely
,
"
when
I
proposed
to
you
,
did
not
I
tell
you
,
honestly
,
what
I
could
give
you
and
what
I
could
not
?
Love
(
odd
as
it
may
sound
between
engaged
people
)
,
and
the
blind
admiration
that
accompanies
love
,
I
had
not
got
to
offer
you
;
this
is
true
,
is
not
it
?
"
"
Perfectly
true
,
"
she
answers
,
resentfully
;
"
and
as
I
am
not
,
nor
ever
was
,
one
of
those
inflammable
young
ladies
,
who
think
that
burning
,
and
consuming
,
and
melting
are
essential
to
married
happiness
,
I
did
not
much
regret
its
absence
.
I
have
always
been
brought
up
to
think
,
"
she
continues
,
having
recourse
to
the
high
moral
tone
which
is
her
last
sure
refuge
,
"
that
respect
and
esteem
are
the
best
basis
for
two
people
to
go
upon
,
and
I
think
so
still
.
"
"
But
do
you
and
I
respect
and
esteem
one
another
?
"
he
asks
,
half-cynically
,
half-mournfully
.
"
Is
it
possible
that
I
can
respect
you
,
who
,
though
you
did
not
care
,
or
affect
to
care
,
two
straws
about
me
personally
—
though
you
knew
,
at
the
time
I
asked
you
to
marry
me
,
that
I
was
madly
in
love
with
another
woman
—
were
yet
willing
to
give
yourself
to
me
,
soul
and
body
—
to
be
bone
of
my
bone
,
and
flesh
of
my
flesh
,
because
I
was
a
good
parti
,
as
the
vile
phrase
goes
?
And
as
for
me
,
"
he
ends
,
in
bitter
self-contempt
,
"
what
is
there
in
all
my
idle
wasted
life
,
from
beginning
to
end
,
that
any
one
can
respect
or
esteem
?
"
"
Has
this
struck
you
now
for
the
first
time
?
"
she
asks
,
drily
.
"
I
am
not
aware
of
any
change
in
our
relative
circumstances
since
our
marriage
was
arranged
;
I
suppose
our
feelings
towards
each
other
are
much
what
they
were
then
,
when
you
were
troubled
with
none
of
these
scruples
.
"
"
And
what
were
our
feelings
then
?
"
he
asks
,
bitterly
;
"
what
brought
as
together
?
Was
not
it
that
our
properties
dovetailed
conveniently
into
one
another
,
as
Sir
Thomas
says
—
that
it
was
advisable
for
both
of
us
to
marry
some
one
—
that
we
were
of
suitable
age
,
and
had
no
positive
distaste
for
one
another
:
was
not
this
so
?
"
"
I
suppose
so
,
"
she
answers
,
sulkily
.
"
And
yet
,
"
he
continues
,
sternly
,
"
although
I
had
laid
bare
to
you
all
my
wretched
story
—
although
you
were
well
aware
that
I
was
utterly
without
the
safeguard
of
any
love
to
yourself
—
you
yet
let
me
fall
into
this
temptation
—
the
cruelest
I
could
have
been
exposed
to
—
without
a
word
of
warning
.
Was
this
fair
?
Was
this
right
?
"
"
Since
you
put
me
on
my
defence
,
"
she
answers
,
with
anger
,
"
I
must
repeat
to
you
what
I
said
before
,
that
it
seemed
to
me
the
best
method
of
curing
you
of
your
ill-placed
fancy
for
Esther
Craven
—
a
fancy
which
she
repaid
with
such
disgraceful
deceit
and
duplicity
—
was
to
let
you
see
for
yourself
what
a
wreck
she
had
become
!
"
"
You
meant
well
,
perhaps
,
"
he
rejoins
,
with
a
sigh
that
is
more
than
half
a
groan
;
"
but
it
was
terribly
mistaken
—
terribly
ill-judged
;
it
has
done
us
both
an
irreparable
injury
.
"
"
I
am
not
aware
that
it
has
done
me
any
injury
whatever
,
"
she
answers
,
coldly
,
mistaking
his
meaning
"
I
was
not
alluding
to
you
,
"
he
replies
,
curtly
.
She
makes
no
rejoinder
,
and
he
,
rising
,
begins
to
walk
up
and
down
the
room
with
his
hands
in
his
pockets
.
He
has
made
his
meaning
clear
enough
,
surely
,
and
yet
she
does
not
appear
to
see
it
.
As
she
continues
resolutely
silent
,
he
stops
opposite
to
her
,
and
speaks
earnestly
,
and
yet
with
some
embarrassment
,
as
one
who
knows
that
what
he
says
will
be
unpleasing
to
his
listener
.
"
Constance
,
I
must
tell
you
the
truth
,
though
I
suppose
it
is
hardly
of
the
complexion
of
the
pretty
flattering
truths
or
untruths
that
you
have
been
used
to
all
your
life
.
But
,
at
least
,
it
is
better
that
you
should
hear
it
now
,
thar
that
we
should
tell
it
one
another
a
year
hence
,
with
mutual
,
useless
recriminations
;
there
is
no
use
in
disguising
the
fact
that
you
and
I
do
not
feel
towards
each
other
as
husband
and
wife
should
feel
.
"
"
Pshaw
!
"
she
says
,
pettishly
,
turning
her
head
aside
;
"
we
feel
much
the
same
as
other
people
do
,
I
daresay
.
"
"
If
,
"
he
continues
,
very
gravely
,
"
marriage
were
a
temporary
connection
,
that
lasted
a
year
—
five
years
say
—
or
that
could
be
dissolved
at
pleasure
,
there
might
be
no
great
harm
in
entering
upon
it
with
the
sort
of
negative
liking
,
the
absence
of
repugnance
for
one
another
,
which
is
all
that
we
can
boast
;
but
since
it
is
a
bargain
for
all
time
,
and
that
there
is
no
getting
out
of
it
except
by
the
gate
of
death
or
disgrace
,
I
think
we
ought
both
to
reflect
on
it
more
seriously
than
we
have
yet
done
before
undertaking
it
.
"
"
It
is
rather
late
in
the
day
to
say
all
this
,
"
retorts
she
,
indignantly
.
"
You
have
known
me
all
my
life
;
you
must
have
been
well
aware
that
I
never
could
enter
into
those
highflown
,
romantic
notions
,
which
I
have
heard
you
yourself
ridicule
a
hundred
times
.
These
objections
should
have
occurred
to
you
before
you
proposed
to
me
,
and
not
now
,
when
we
have
been
engaged
two
months
,
and
when
our
marriage
has
been
discussed
as
a
settled
thing
by
all
our
acquaintance
.
"
"
You
are
right
,
"
he
answers
,
quietly
.
"
They
should
have
occurred
to
me
before
;
but
,
in
justice
to
myself
,
I
must
say
that
they
would
never
have
occurred
to
me
:
I
should
have
remained
in
the
same
state
of
supine
indifference
to
everything
in
which
I
came
here
,
had
not
you
yourself
thrown
me
in
the
way
of
Esther
Craven
.
"
She
sits
upright
in
her
chair
;
her
pale
,
handsome
face
paler
,
harder
than
usual
,
in
her
great
anger
.
"
The
drift
of
this
long
tirade
,
when
translated
into
plain
English
,
is
,
I
suppose
,
that
you
wish
to
marry
Esther
Craven
instead
of
me
?
"
He
is
silent
.
"
Is
it
so
?
"
she
repeats
,
her
voice
raised
several
notes
above
its
wonted
low
key
.
"
When
I
am
engaged
to
one
woman
,
"
he
answers
,
slowly
,
reluctantly
,
yet
steadily
,
"
I
hope
I
am
not
dishonourable
enough
willingly
to
harbour
the
thought
of
marriage
with
any
other
.
"
The
Gerard
diamonds
flash
before
her
mind
's
eye
:
they
are
so
big
,
and
numerous
—
necklace
,
aigrette
,
stomacher
.
The
idea
of
seeing
them
gleam
restless
in
Esther
's
hair
,
on
Esther
's
fair
neck
,
is
insupportable
to
her
.
She
will
not
release
him
,
ardently
as
he
wishes
it
;
she
will
hold
him
by
a
strong
chain
that
will
not
snap
—
his
honour
.
"
I
am
glad
to
hear
it
,
"
she
answers
,
coldly
.
"
In
common
fairness
to
me
,
you
could
hardly
have
entertained
such
an
idea
.
It
is
a
great
disadvantage
to
a
girl
to
be
engaged
,
to
have
her
engagement
as
widely
known
as
mine
has
been
,
and
then
to
have
it
broken
off
;
people
never
think
the
same
of
her
again
.
"
He
turns
to
the
window
,
to
hide
his
bitter
disappointment
.
"
Very
well
,
"
he
answers
,
calmly
;
"
things
will
remain
as
they
are
,
I
suppose
,
then
?
I
only
thought
it
right
to
warn
you
how
small
a
chance
of
happiness
there
is
in
a
marriage
so
loveless
as
ours
:
for
the
rest
you
must
blame
yourself
.
"
CHAPTER
XXXIX
.
NIGHT
'S
black
sheet
drawn
off
the
other
half
of
the
world
is
thrown
over
us
;
the
dark
side
of
the
lantern
is
turned
towards
us
.
Esther
has
fallen
asleep
,
with
almost
a
happy
smile
upon
her
soft
,
parted
lips
.
She
is
forgiven
;
and
is
there
any
sweetness
like
the
sweetness
of
being
pardoned
,
having
sinned
?
He
no
longer
hates
her
!
That
was
not
hate
that
looked
out
of
his
quick
,
keen
eyes
to-day
,
as
he
leant
over
her
while
she
sat
,
dizzy
and
faint
,
on
that
church-
yard
slab
,
or
as
he
knelt
in
strong
emotion
at
her
knees
,
And
now
,
though
at
her
own
telling
,
he
is
going
away
from
her
to-morrow
—
though
,
when
next
they
meet
,
either
they
will
have
put
off
mortality
's
tatters
,
God
will
have
laid
"
Death
,
like
a
kiss
,
across
their
lips
;
"
or
else
,
to
look
and
lean
as
he
looked
and
leant
to-day
will
be
deadly
sin
—
yet
creeps
there
a
sorrowful
joy
about
her
heart
.
He
has
given
her
back
the
past
—
the
short
,
happy
Felton
past
;
no
one
can
take
it
from
her
again
;
not
even
Miss
Blessington
,
who
has
taken
all
else
—
present
and
future
and
all
.
She
is
dreaming
of
him
now
—
dreaming
that
she
is
sitting
in
the
library
at
Felton
,
in
the
fragrant
gloom
made
by
the
lowered
Venetian
blinds
,
by
dark
oak
book-
shelves
,
by
plentiful
sweet
flowers
,
and
so
sitting
hears
the
sound
of
his
quick
feet
coming
along
the
passage
.
He
is
at
the
door
—
he
is
opening
it
.
But
,
ah
!
what
is
this
—
it
will
not
open
;
it
is
stiff
on
its
hinges
.
He
is
pushing
it
—
pushing
gently
,
pushing
hard
—
but
it
will
not
move
.
What
a
stealthy
noise
it
is
he
makes
,
as
if
he
were
afraid
of
some
one
hearing
him
!
She
starts
up
,
broad
awake
;
it
is
not
all
dream
;
there
is
some
one
pushing
stealthily
,
yet
audibly
,
against
a
door
.
For
the
first
bewildered
moment
of
sick
fear
she
imagines
that
it
is
her
own
door
on
which
this
attempt
is
being
made
;
but
a
moment
's
listening
undeceives
her
.
The
sound
comes
from
underneath
her
window
,
apparently
.
It
is
not
rats
this
time
;
a
rat
,
with
all
its
ingenuity
,
would
be
puzzled
to
make
a
noise
so
distinctly
human
.
Upon
her
mind
there
flashes
suddenly
the
recollection
of
a
door
leading
into
the
garden
beneath
her
casement
,
but
not
so
immediately
beneath
but
that
she
can
see
it
;
a
door
that
stands
wide
open
all
the
summer
through
,
when
people
step
from
house
to
garden
,
from
garden
to
house
,
a
hundred
times
a
day
,
but
which
in
winter
is
rarely
used
.
She
sits
up
motionless
,
while
round
her
utter
darkness
surges
.
The
noise
is
repeated
:
push
—
push
!
creak
—
creak
!
it
is
as
if
some
one
,
with
hand
and
knee
,
were
attempting
to
obtain
entrance
.
When
light
is
withdrawn
hearing
becomes
preternaturally
sharpened
;
in
an
instant
she
has
jumped
out
of
bed
,
and
run
barefoot
over
the
cold
boards
to
the
window
.
There
,
pulling
aside
the
blind
,
she
,
trembling
all
over
,
peeps
out
.
Moon
is
there
none
,
but
the
joint
light
of
countless
star-squadrons
,
faint
though
it
be
,
is
yet
strong
enough
to
enable
her
distinctly
to
make
out
the
figure
of
a
man
pressing
itself
against
the
door
in
question
.
With
bodily
eyes
she
at
length
looks
upon
that
burglar
,
whom
,
with
the
terrified
eyes
of
imagination
,
she
had
so
often
beheld
.
Whether
he
wear
a
crape
mask
or
not
it
is
too
dark
to
discern
.
What
is
she
to
do
?
—
she
,
in
all
probability
,
the
only
wakeful
,
conscious
being
in
all
that
great
house
.
For
a
minute
she
stands
irresolute
,
while
a
rushing
sound
fills
her
ears
,
and
her
teeth
chatter
dismally
in
the
cold
.
Shall
she
alarm
the
servants
?
But
how
to
reach
them
?
She
does
not
even
know
the
way
to
their
sleeping-places
.
They
are
miles
away
,
in
the
other
wing
of
the
house
,
where
she
has
never
been
.
Shall
she
go
to
Miss
Blessington
?
At
least
she
knows
the
way
thither
,
though
it
is
some
distance
off
.
But
of
what
avail
would
that
be
?
Of
what
use
would
two
girls
be
,
any
more
than
one
,
against
the
onslaught
of
daring
unscrupulous
robbers
?
Shall
she
betake
herself
to
St.
John
,
whose
room
is
but
two
doors
off
?
No
sooner
does
this
idea
suggest
itself
to
her
,
than
she
puts
it
into
practice
.
Hastily
striking
a
light
,
and
wrapping
her
dressing-gown
round
her
,
she
opens
her
door
,
and
,
flying
down
the
passage
,
knocks
loudly
at
Mr.
Gerard
's
.
But
Gerard
,
having
a
not
particularly
bad
conscience
,
and
a
particularly
good
digestion
,
is
a
sound
sleeper
.
She
knocks
again
,
more
violently
,
almost
to
the
flaying
of
her
knuckles
:
"
Mr.
Gerard
!
—
Mr
.
Gerard
!
"
"
Hullo
!
who
's
there
?
"
responds
a
sleepy
voice
.
"
It
's
I
!
Esther
!
"
she
cries
pantingly
.
"
Open
the
door
,
please
—
this
minute
—
quick
!
"
"
Esther
!
—
you
!
"
says
the
voice
,
perfectly
awake
this
time
.
"
What
on
earth
is
the
matter
I
—
wait
one
second
!
"
He
hurries
on
his
clothes
,
and
then
hastens
to
accede
to
her
request
of
opening
the
door
.
"
Are
you
ill
?
"
he
asks
,
anxiously
,
seeing
her
lean
against
the
door-post
,
with
death-white
cheeks
and
terror-struck
eyes
.
"
No
—
no
!
"
she
answers
,
hoarse
and
breathless
,
while
,
St.
John
,
candle
,
and
door
,
all
seem
to
be
dancing
a
jig
round
her
.
"
It
is
not
I
,
but
there
's
a
man
—
getting
into
the
house
—
by
the
garden-door
.
I
saw
him
!
"
"
The
devil
there
is
!
"
replies
the
young
man
,
with
animation
.
"
Here
,
give
me
your
candle
,
and
I
'll
go
and
see
what
he
wants
.
"
"
No
—
no
!
"
she
cries
,
with
all
a
woman
's
unreason
.
"
Do
n't
go
;
you
must
not
!
"
(
though
for
what
other
purpose
she
had
sought
his
assistance
she
would
have
been
puzzled
to
say
)
.
"
I
wo
n't
let
you
;
you
'll
be
killed
!
"
and
so
,
gasping
,
stretches
out
her
white
arms
towards
him
,
and
,
letting
drop
her
candle
,
falls
insensible
,
in
the
total
darkness
,
into
his
embrace
.
For
a
month
past
or
more
,
the
dream
that
has
pursued
Gerard
night
and
day
—
unchecked
in
sleep
,
in
waking
faintly
repressed
by
considerations
of
honour
—
is
to
hold
that
fair
woman
's
form
in
his
arms
;
and
now
he
so
holds
her
in
reality
.
And
yet
,
as
the
fulfilment
of
our
wishes
seldom
affords
us
the
gratification
we
had
anticipated
,
so
it
is
with
him
.
Now
that
he
has
got
her
,
he
does
not
quite
know
what
to
do
with
her
.
Shall
he
,
encumbered
by
his
beautiful
burden
,
grope
his
way
back
into
his
room
,
and
lay
her
down
there
,
while
he
goes
and
investigates
into
the
cause
of
her
terror
and
swoon
?
But
the
household
,
being
alarmed
,
may
find
her
there
;
and
,
so
finding
,
would
not
the
reputation
of
her
,
most
innocent
,
be
endangered
?
Her
head
droops
heavy
in
its
perfect
lifelessness
on
his
shoulder
;
her
soft
warm
hair
caresses
his
cheek
in
the
blackness
of
the
night
.
He
looks
down
the
passage
.
From
Esther
's
open
door
a
flood
of
light
streams
;
at
all
events
there
is
a
candle
left
burning
there
.
In
a
moment
he
has
borne
her
into
her
own
chamber
,
and
has
laid
her
most
gently
down
upon
the
ginger-moreen
bed
.
He
has
no
time
to
try
and
revive
her
now
.
"
Perhaps
it
was
only
her
own
imagination
,
poor
child
!
—
her
own
imagination
,
and
those
infernal
rats
!
"
is
the
hasty
thought
that
has
crossed
his
mind
;
but
looking
through
the
window
,
as
she
had
done
,
he
sees
,
as
she
had
seen
,
a
man
's
dim
figure
in
the
starlight
.
Without
a
moment
's
delay
,
without
casting
another
thought
even
to
the
fair
swooned
woman
he
leaves
behind
him
,
Gerard
runs
down
the
corridor
,
his
blood
pleasantly
astir
with
the
thought
of
a
possible
adventure
—
through
interminable
dark
galleries
,
down
the
gleaming
cold
of
white
stone
stairs
,
through
hall
,
saloon
,
north
drawing-room
,
and
justicing-room
—
till
he
reaches
a
narrow
short
passage
that
leads
to
the
garden
door
.
As
he
and
his
light
draw
near
,
the
noise
suddenly
ceases
.
He
stands
still
for
a
moment
,
expecting
to
hear
it
repeated
,
but
it
is
not
.
Setting
down
his
candle
,
therefore
,
he
advances
towards
the
door
and
unfastens
it
—
it
is
secured
by
an
old-fashioned
catch
inside
—
opens
it
,
and
looks
out
into
the
night
.
At
first
he
can
discern
nothing
but
the
chill
wintry
garden
,
and
the
million
stars
scattered
broadcast
over
God
's
one
great
unenclosed
field
of
the
sky
;
but
a
second
glance
reveals
to
him
a
dim
figure
crouching
indistinct
in
the
shadow
of
a
projecting
buttress
.
"
Who
's
there
?
"
he
cries
,
in
a
loud
clear
voice
.
No
answer
.
"
Who
's
there
?
"
he
repeats
.
"
If
you
do
n't
answer
,
I
'll
fire
.
"
Firing
,
in
this
instance
,
must
mean
using
the
flat
candlestick
as
a
projectile
,
for
other
weapon
has
Mr.
Gerard
none
.
Hardly
have
the
words
left
his
mouth
,
however
,
before
the
figure
springs
forth
from
its
hiding-place
,
and
stands
erect
before
him
.
"
Do
n't
fire
,
sir
,
please
;
it
's
I
.
"
Livery-buttons
flash
in
the
starlight
:
behold
the
culprit
revealed
!
—
a
young
and
lighthearted
footman
,
who
has
on
one
or
two
previous
occasions
been
suspected
of
a
too
great
proclivity
towards
the
nocturnal
festivities
of
the
"
Chequers
.
"
A
sense
of
infuriation
at
the
bald
tame
end
of
the
adventure
gets
possession
of
St.
John
.
"
What
the
devil
do
you
mean
,
sir
,
skulking
here
,
alarming
the
whole
household
,
and
frightening
the
young
ladies
out
of
their
senses
?
"
he
asks
,
with
a
gruff
asperity
not
unworthy
of
his
papa
.
"
If
you
please
,
sir
,
I
was
only
—
only
—
taking
a
bit
of
a
walk
in
the
park
,
sir
.
"
"
A
likely
tale
!
"
cries
St.
John
,
angrily
.
"
A
walk
in
the
park
at
this
time
of
night
!
Come
,
do
n't
let
us
have
any
lies
,
my
good
fellow
;
that
is
covering
a
small
fault
with
a
much
greater
one
.
You
were
at
the
'
Chequers
,
'
I
suppose
?
Come
,
out
with
it
!
"
"
If
you
please
,
sir
,
"
replies
the
man
,
hanging
his
head
,
and
looking
very
sheepish
,
"
there
was
a
young
woman
,
as
come
all
the
way
from
Shelford
,
and
as
she
was
a
bit
timid
,
I
promised
to
send
her
home
.
"
"
A
young
woman
!
"
repeats
St.
John
,
repressing
an
inclination
to
smile
.
"
Well
,
next
time
,
you
must
be
good
enough
to
choose
more
seasonable
hours
for
your
meetings
with
young
women
.
"
"
And
when
I
come
back
,
sir
,
I
found
all
the
house
made
up
for
the
night
,
and
I
could
not
get
no
one
to
hear
me
;
and
I
thought
as
how
,
very
like
,
I
might
find
this
'
ere
door
open
,
if
so
be
as
Betsy
had
forgot
to
bolt
it
,
as
she
mostly
does
,
only
it
is
so
plaguy
stiff
on
its
'
inges
—
"
"
And
,
for
a
wonder
,
Betsy
had
not
forgotten
to
bolt
it
,
"
interrupts
Gerard
,
drily
.
"
Well
,
do
n't
let
us
have
anything
of
this
kind
again
,
or
,
I
warn
you
,
you
'll
be
packed
off
without
a
character
.
"
Relieved
at
being
let
off
so
easily
,
the
young
fellow
slinks
away
,
and
Gerard
retraces
his
steps
upstairs
again
.
He
cannot
help
laughing
as
he
thinks
of
poor
Esther
's
tragic
fears
,
of
her
agonised
pleadings
:
"
You
must
not
go
!
I
wo
n't
let
you
go
!
you
'll
be
killed
!
"
"
If
I
'm
never
in
nearer
peril
of
death
than
I
was
to-night
,
"
he
thinks
,
"
I
have
every
chance
of
outliving
Methuselah
.
Was
ever
mountain
delivered
of
so
contemptible
a
mouse
?
"
He
laughs
again
.
"
'
I
wo
n't
let
you
!
you
'll
be
killed
!
'
Poor
little
thing
!
I
wonder
has
she
come
to
herself
yet
!
I
must
let
her
know
that
this
bloodthirsty
villain
has
not
slain
me
outright
this
time
.
"
Having
reached
her
door
,
he
pauses
and
listens
.
There
is
no
sound
within
.
He
knocks
gently
—
no
answer
:
knocks
again
—
still
no
reply
.
Half-hesitating
,
as
one
that
stands
doubtful
on
the
threshold
of
a
church
,
he
opens
the
door
and
enters
.
The
light
burns
on
the
dressing-table
,
and
she
lies
still
prone
,
where
he
had
laid
her
,
on
the
bed
,
still
completely
insensible
.
This
swoon
is
horribly
deathlike
:
"
...
...
...
..But
she
lies
Not
in
the
embrace
of
loyal
death
,
who
keeps
His
bride
for
ever
,
but
in
treacherous
arms
Of
sleep
,
that
sated
,
will
restore
to
grief
Her
snatch
'd
a
sweet
space
from
his
cruel
clutch
.
"
Her
head
is
thrown
back
,
and
her
round
chin
slightly
raised
.
Over
the
tossed
pillow
wander
the
tangled
riches
of
her
swart
hair
;
nerveless
on
the
counterpane
lie
the
white
,
carven
hands
and
blue-veined
wrists
,
on
which
the
faint
fine
lines
make
a
tender
network
.
Half-shadowed
by
her
dressing-gown
,
half-emerging
from
it
gleam
bare
feet
,
"
That
make
the
blown
foam
neither
swift
nor
white
.
"
He
leans
over
her
,
gazing
with
passionate
admiration
at
the
heavy
shut
lids
and
upward
curling
lashes
—
with
passionate
admiration
mixed
with
sharp
pain
;
for
he
can
see
,
plainlier
now
in
this
long
quiet
look
than
in
the
hasty
,
stolen
glances
he
has
hitherto
given
her
,
the
purple
stains
under
closed
eyes
,
the
little
depressions
in
the
rounded
cheek
,
the
droop
of
the
sweet
sorrowful
mouth
.
Iachimo
's
words
recur
to
him
—
Iachimo
's
,
as
he
gazed
in
his
treachery
upon
the
sleeping
beauty
of
Imogen
:
"
...
...
...
Cytherea
!
How
bravely
thou
becom'st
thy
bed
!
fresh
lily
!
And
whiter
than
the
sheets
!
That
I
might
touch
!
But
kiss
—
one
kiss
!
Rubies
unparagon
'd
,
How
dearly
they
do't
!
—
'
Tis
her
breathing
that
Perfumes
the
chamber
thus
.
The
flame
o
'
the
taper
Bows
towards
her
,
and
would
underpeep
her
lids
To
see
the
enclosed
lights
now
canopied
Under
those
windows
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
But
looking
at
a
person
with
ever
such
warm
approbation
will
not
recover
them
from
a
swoon
.
What
is
he
to
do
?
He
is
horribly
puzzled
,
so
seldom
before
has
he
seen
a
fainted
fellow-Christian
.
Vague
ideas
of
having
heard
of
burnt
feathers
held
under
nostrils
recur
to
his
mind
.
But
whence
to
obtain
feathers
,
unless
he
takes
a
pair
of
scissors
and
snips
a
hole
in
the
feather-bed
?
There
is
nothing
in
all
the
great
room
more
feathery
than
the
stumpy
end
of
an
old
quill
pen
,
with
which
Miss
Craven
is
wont
to
indite
her
small
accounts
.
Another
specific
flashes
before
his
mental
eye
.
Smelling-salts
!
He
walks
to
the
dressing-table
,
and
carefully
overlooks
its
slender
load
:
brushes
and
combs
,
a
Bible
,
and
a
fat
pincushion
—
neither
essence
,
unguent
,
nor
scent
of
any
kind
.
Esther
's
toilette
apparatus
is
but
meagre
.
Shall
he
throw
cold
water
over
her
?
What
!
and
deluge
all
the
ginger
moreen
bed
,
thereby
making
it
an
even
more
undesirable
resting-place
than
it
is
at
present
?
Quite
at
a
loss
what
to
do
,
he
returns
to
the
bedside
,
and
begins
to
chafe
her
cold
hands
between
his
two
warm
ones
.
Then
he
stoops
over
her
,
trying
to
discover
any
smallest
sign
of
returning
consciousness
.
When
his
lips
are
so
close
to
hers
,
how
can
he
help
laying
them
yet
closer
?
Men
seldom
do
resist
any
temptation
,
unless
it
is
very
weak
,
and
the
objections
to
it
very
overwhelming
.
This
temptation
is
not
weak
,
and
there
are
absolutely
no
objections
to
it
.
No
one
will
ever
know
of
this
theft
—
not
even
the
person
upon
whom
it
is
committed
:
it
will
do
her
no
harm
,
and
to
kiss
her
even
thus
unknowing
,
unreturning
,
gives
him
a
bitter
joy
.
But
,
having
once
kissed
her
,
he
refrains
himself
,
nor
lays
his
lips
a
second
time
upon
hers
.
Something
of
shame
comes
over
him
,
as
one
that
has
taken
advantage
of
another
's
helplessness
—
one
that
,
for
an
instant
,
has
let
the
brute
within
him
get
the
upper
hand
of
the
man
.
Only
he
caresses
gently
her
two
cold
hands
,
and
his
eyes
dwell
on
her
face
,
watching
longingly
for
the
first
small
symptom
of
back-coming
life
.
His
patience
is
rewarded
,
after
a
time
;
after
a
time
there
comes
a
quivering
about
the
eyelids
,
a
tremor
about
the
mouth
—
then
a
deep-drawn
sighing
respiration
.
Always
with
a
sigh
does
the
soul
come
back
to
its
dark
cottage
,
having
journeyed
away
from
it
for
awhile
.
The
curtain-lids
sweep
back
from
the
spirit
's
windows
;
and
,
pale
and
clear
,
her
eyes
'
dark
glories
shine
upon
him
,
conscious
yet
bewildered
.
Then
a
little
stealing
red
,
like
the
tint
that
dwelt
in
a
sea-shell
's
lips
,
flows
into
each
pure
cheek
;
then
comes
full
consciousness
,
and
with
it
recollected
terrors
.
"
Where
is
he
?
"
she
asks
,
in
a
low
frightened
voice
.
"
Is
he
gone
?
—
did
he
get
in
?
—
did
he
hurt
you
?
"
"
He
was
not
a
very
formidable
burglar
,
after
all
,
"
Gerard
answers
,
with
a
reassuring
smile
:
"
it
was
only
Thomas
,
who
had
been
seeing
his
sweetheart
home
,
and
was
trying
to
get
into
the
house
without
being
heard
.
"
"
Oh
,
I
'm
so
glad
!
But
"
(
her
eyes
straying
confusedly
round
the
room
)
"
how
did
I
get
here
?
When
last
I
remember
any
thing
I
was
in
the
passage
.
"
"
I
carried
you
here
.
"
"
And
then
went
and
found
out
about
this
man
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
"
And
then
came
back-here
?
"
"
Yes
.
I
hope
you
do
n't
think
me
very
impertinent
,
"
he
says
,
apologetically
;
"
but
I
could
not
bear
the
idea
of
your
lying
here
,
insensible
,
without
any
one
making
an
attempt
to
bring
you
round
.
"
Recollecting
what
his
own
method
of
bringing
her
round
had
been
,
his
conscience
gives
him
a
compunctious
stab
.
She
blushes
furiously
,
and
,
raising
herself
into
a
sitting
posture
,
begins
to
twist
up
her
hair
with
both
hands
.
"
You
are
better
now
,
"
he
says
,
tenderly
,
but
with
perfect
respect
;
"
I
will
go
.
"
He
moves
towards
the
door
,
but
,
before
he
can
reach
it
,
it
flies
open
hastily
,
and
Constance
,
dishevelled
,
dressing-gowned
,
flurried
out
of
all
likeness
to
herself
,
bursts
in
.
"
Oh
,
Miss
Craven
!
I
'm
so
frightened
!
I
heard
people
talking
outside
—
St.
John
!
!
"
Mrs.
Siddons
might
have
been
defied
to
crowd
more
solemnly
tragic
emphasis
into
one
word
than
does
Miss
Blessington
into
the
innocent
dissyllable
,
"
St.
John
!
"
"
Well
!
"
replies
St.
John
,
tartly
,
vexed
past
speaking
at
being
discovered
in
such
an
utterly
false
position
.
"
I
suppose
I
may
be
allowed
to
ask
what
brings
you
here
?
"
she
says
,
drawing
herself
up
to
her
stately
height
.
"
You
certainly
may
,
"
he
answers
,
endeavouring
to
recover
his
self-possession
;
"
and
I
have
not
the
slightest
objection
to
telling
you
.
What
brought
me
here
was
the
endeavour
to
recover
Miss
Craven
from
a
faint
into
which
she
fell
on
coming
to
tell
me
—
as
the
only
person
within
her
reach
—
that
a
man
was
,
as
she
imagined
,
endeavouring
to
break
into
the
house
.
"
Even
to
his
own
ears
this
tale
,
as
he
tells
it
,
sounds
wofully
improbable
.
"
And
you
took
no
steps
to
prevent
him
?
"
cries
Constance
,
quickly
;
her
fears
for
her
personal
safety
,
for
the
moment
,
outweighing
the
claims
of
outraged
virtue
.
"
Pardon
me
!
I
did
;
but
having
discovered
that
it
was
only
one
of
the
footmen
,
who
had
been
accidentally
locked
out
,
I
came
back
to
tell
Miss
Craven
so
,
if
she
were
recovered
!
and
,
if
not
,
to
give
her
that
assistance
which
any
one
human
being
may
render
to
another
without
being
called
to
account
for
it
.
"
Having
spoken
,
he
folds
his
arms
,
and
confronts
her
,
calm
and
stately
as
herself
.
"
I
should
hardly
have
imagined
it
was
your
business
,
"
she
replies
,
with
scarce-concealed
incredulity
.
"
May
I
ask
why
you
could
not
ring
for
the
servants
?
"
"
Because
,
as
you
are
well
aware
,
"
he
answers
,
trying
to
quell
his
rising
anger
,
"
if
I
were
to
ring
from
now
till
doomsday
,
not
a
soul
would
hear
me
;
all
the
bells
ring
downstairs
,
and
the
servants
'
bedrooms
are
at
least
a
quarter
of
a
mile
distant
up-stairs
.
"
"
Why
could
not
you
have
come
to
me
,
then
?
"
"
The
impropriety
would
,
in
that
case
,
have
been
at
least
equal
,
"
he
answers
,
sarcastically
;
"
and
,
to
tell
you
the
truth
,
such
a
course
never
occurred
to
me
.
"
Something
in
his
tone
irritates
her
.
"
It
is
,
of
course
,
no
concern
of
mine
,
"
she
says
,
with
icy
coldness
.
"
If
Miss
Craven
chooses
to
receive
the
visits
of
gentlemen
,
HERE
,
at
two
o'clock
in
the
morning
,
it
does
me
no
harm
!
"
She
moves
towards
the
door
,
but
he
places
himself
between
her
and
it
;
and
,
grasping
her
wrist
with
unconscious
roughness
,
speaks
in
a
voice
low
and
hoarse
with
anger
,
while
his
roused
wrath
glances
upon
her
from
out
of
his
grey
eyes
—
the
eyes
that
hitherto
have
looked
upon
her
only
with
indifference
.
"
Constance
!
what
do
you
mean
by
these
insults
?
How
dare
you
give
utterance
to
them
?
Is
your
own
mind
so
impure
that
you
cannot
believe
in
the
purity
of
others
?
"
"
You
must
allow
that
it
is
at
least
an
equivocal
position
,
"
she
answers
,
half-frightened
by
his
stern
looks
,
but
keeping
resolutely
to
her
text
.
"
It
is
,
"
he
answers
,
remorsefully
;
"
I
allow
it
—
I
bitterly
feel
it
.
And
yet
,
if
it
were
only
myself
that
were
concerned
,
I
should
scorn
to
descend
to
any
more
explanation
than
that
I
have
already
given
you
;
but
for
the
sake
of
this
most
innocent
girl
,
whom
by
my
folly
I
have
compromised
,
I
swear
to
you
,
Constance
—
I
solemnly
take
God
to
witness
!
—
that
it
is
exactly
and
simply
as
I
have
told
you
.
Miss
Craven
had
not
recovered
from
her
insensibility
more
than
two
minutes
before
you
came
into
the
room
;
I
was
in
the
act
of
leaving
it
as
you
entered
.
This
is
the
whole
plain
truth
:
do
you
believe
it
?
"
She
does
not
answer
.
"
Do
you
believe
it
?
"
he
repeats
,
earnestly
.
The
mulish
look
comes
into
her
face
—
the
look
he
has
begun
to
know
so
well
.
"
It
cannot
be
of
much
consequence
to
you
whether
I
believe
it
or
not
,
"
she
answers
,
still
with
that
freezing
calm
of
voice
and
face
.
"
You
have
,
at
all
events
,
adopted
the
best
method
of
obtaining
your
release
from
that
engagement
,
which
you
so
broadly
hinted
,
only
yesterday
afternoon
,
that
you
wished
to
be
free
from
.
You
have
your
wish
—
you
are
free
!
"
"
As
you
will
,
"
he
answers
,
gloomily
.
"
God
knows
there
never
was
much
love
in
our
connection
;
an
iller-mated
pair
never
came
together
;
it
was
a
mere
matter
of
business
on
both
sides
.
But
,
as
to
saying
that
the
pure
accident
which
has
brought
Miss
Craven
and
me
into
slight
and
transient
collision
to-night
can
have
any
influence
upon
the
conclusion
or
continuance
of
our
engagement
—
it
is
tantamount
to
telling
me
that
what
I
have
sworn
to
you
,
upon
my
honour
as
a
gentleman
,
to
be
true
,
is
false
!
"
he
says
,
his
face
growing
white
and
fierce
.
"
Is
it
?
"
she
says
,
with
a
quietly
enraging
smile
;
having
that
confidence
in
the
shield
of
womanhood
,
which
makes
so
many
a
woman
gall
a
man
to
the
uttermost
,
and
expect
him
to
stand
by
,
serene
,
polite
,
and
smiling
.
"
Unfortunately
,
"
she
continues
,
"
I
am
behind
the
spirit
of
the
age
;
I
am
shackled
with
obsolete
old
notions
of
propriety
and
decency
;
and
therefore
—
as
you
have
no
longer
any
smallest
control
over
my
actions
—
will
you
be
so
good
as
to
allow
me
to
go
?
"
He
drops
her
hand
instantly
,
and
,
opening
the
door
for
her
,
bows
his
head
haughtily
,
saying
,
"
Go
!
I
have
neither
the
wish
nor
the
power
to
detain
you
;
"
and
as
he
so
speaks
she
passes
out
.
Meanwhile
Esther
,
having
slidden
from
her
bed
,
stands
with
trembling
limbs
,
grasping
the
back
of
a
chair
,
and
gazing
from
speaker
to
speaker
with
a
world
of
surprise
and
horror
in
her
great
innocent
eyes
.
As
Miss
Blessington
leaves
the
room
,
St.
John
turns
to
her
:
"
My
darling
!
"
he
says
,
with
an
accent
of
passionate
remorse
,
"
how
will
you
ever
forgive
me
for
having
exposed
you
to
this
!
"
She
turns
away
from
him
,
and
covers
her
burning
face
with
her
hands
.
"
Go
!
"
she
says
,
faintly
—
"
go
,
this
minute
!
Do
n't
say
another
word
!
Do
n't
give
her
any
more
reason
for
her
wicked
slanders
!
Go
!
"
And
he
goes
.
CHAPTER
XL
.
OF
the
three
persons
whose
repose
has
been
disturbed
by
the
amours
of
Thomas
the
footman
,
only
one
is
able
to
take
up
again
the
thread
of
interrupted
slumber
.
Miss
Blessington
,
having
returned
to
her
chamber
,
and
having
meditated
calmly
for
a
quarter
of
an
hour
on
the
knot
in
her
destiny
she
has
just
untied
,
and
having
given
one
great
sigh
to
the
memory
of
the
Gerard
diamonds
,
lays
down
her
golden
scented
head
on
her
pillow
again
,
and
sleeps
the
sleep
of
the
just
.
Miss
Blessington
has
well
nigh
mastered
the
secret
of
eternal
youth
and
perennial
beauty
—
incapacity
for
feeling
any
emotion
.
It
is
hardly
likely
that
the
god
Sleep
,
who
loves
a
quiet
house
,
will
visit
two
such
unquiet
temples
as
the
brains
of
St.
John
and
Esther
:
he
goes
away
from
them
utterly
,
taking
his
gentle
poppyheads
with
him
.
St.
John
walks
miles
and
miles
up
and
down
his
bedroom
carpet
,
pondering
,
deeply
and
vexedly
,
not
on
what
his
own
course
of
conduct
shall
be
—
that
he
is
already
determined
upon
—
but
on
what
effect
Miss
Blessington
's
coldly
sceptical
reception
of
his
wildly
improbable
yet
true
tale
is
likely
to
have
upon
Esther
.
And
Esther
herself
,
having
conceived
a
mortal
aversion
for
the
shelter
of
the
ginger-canopied
pavilion
,
wraps
a
great
shawl
round
her
,
and
,
sitting
down
on
the
deep
window-seat
,
watches
for
the
first
streaks
of
dawn
,
which
,
on
these
winter
mornings
,
are
long
,
long
coming
.
Though
it
is
a
winter
night
,
her
hands
burn
hot
and
dry
;
for
the
last
few
days
she
has
had
a
sharp
pain
in
her
side
—
to-night
it
is
getting
yet
sharper
;
it
begins
to
hurt
her
to
draw
her
breath
.
Two
thoughts
keep
buzzing
about
her
brain
:
"
I
am
going
to
be
ill
,
"
and
"
I
am
going
to
be
turned
away
.
"
She
throws
aside
her
shawl
,
but
the
dry
burning
still
continues
.
She
has
sat
here
for
hours
now
,
and
the
dawn
's
feet
are
beginning
slowly
to
climb
the
steps
from
the
eastern
gate
.
The
battle
between
day
and
night
is
yet
undecided
;
almost
equally
they
divide
the
sky
between
them
.
Perhaps
it
is
the
night
's
excitement
that
has
given
her
this
fever
;
perhaps
the
cold
morning
air
would
refresh
her
.
She
waits
until
day
's
victory
is
complete
,
and
then
—
being
already
dressed
—
puts
on
her
hat
and
jacket
,
and
steals
noiselessly
downstairs
,
to
the
garden
door
that
has
been
the
cause
of
so
much
mischief
,
out
into
the
garden
between
the
brown
earthed
beds
,
where
the
winter
aconite
's
small
yellow
heads
and
green
tippets
are
beginning
to
push
themselves
into
sight
,
and
thence
into
the
park
.
There
is
no
wind
abroad
,
only
heavy
rain-clouds
outwalling
the
infant
sun
,
and
the
unarmed
air
has
a
piercing
chillness
in
it
.
Esther
has
not
proceeded
far
,
and
is
standing
thoughtful
on
the
brow
of
a
little
knoll
,
from
whence
one
looks
down
on
the
dark
flag-fringed
pool
,
when
she
is
aware
of
a
footstep
behind
her
;
and
the
next
instant
St.
John
Gerard
stands
by
her
side
.
"
What
have
you
come
here
for
?
Why
have
you
followed
me
?
"
she
asks
,
turning
upon
him
in
hasty
dismay
.
"
Miss
Blessington
's
windows
look
this
way
—
she
will
see
us
together
.
"
"
Let
her
see
us
,
"
he
answers
,
doggedly
.
"
She
will
never
believe
that
it
was
by
accident
we
have
met
,
"
cries
poor
Esther
,
in
great
agitation
.
"
She
will
be
right
,
then
;
it
is
not
accident
,
"
"
She
will
think
that
it
was
an
appointment
!
"
she
says
,
clasping
her
hands
in
unfeigned
distress
.
"
Let
her
think
so
!
"
"
It
is
very
well
for
you
to
talk
in
this
way
,
"
she
says
,
with
passionate
reproach
.
"
You
are
a
man
—
you
may
defy
the
opinion
of
the
world
;
but
is
it
so
easy
for
me
?
"
"
Why
should
her
opinion
concern
either
you
or
me
?
"
he
inquires
,
gravely
.
"
What
is
she
to
either
of
us
?
Did
not
you
last
night
,
with
your
own
ears
,
hear
my
dismissal
pronounced
?
"
She
stoops
her
head
until
her
hat
almost
conceals
her
face
from
him
.
"
She
was
angry
,
"
she
says
,
in
a
low
voice
;
"
she
will
be
sorry
for
the
things
she
said
;
she
will
forgive
you
.
"
"
Will
she
?
"
he
answers
,
quietly
smiling
.
"
I
think
not
;
to
tell
you
the
truth
,
I
do
n't
mean
to
ask
her
.
"
She
lifts
her
face
,
suddenly
earnest
,
to
him
.
"
You
must
!
"
she
says
,
eagerly
.
"
You
must
explain
to
her
,
as
you
tried
to
do
last
night
,
that
what
happened
then
"
(
a
painful
blush
)
"
is
no
possible
reason
why
her
engagement
to
you
should
be
broken
off
.
You
must
convince
her
of
this
—
you
must
,
indeed
;
for
my
sake
you
must
!
"
He
looks
down
,
frowning
heavily
.
"
When
a
galley-slave
's
chains
have
been
knocked
off
,
must
he
handcuff
himself
again
?
"
"
Why
did
you
handcuff
yourself
at
first
?
"
she
asks
,
with
impulsive
vehemence
.
"
Whose
doing
was
it
but
your
own
?
What
madness
first
impelled
you
to
ask
her
to
marry
you
?
"
"
Because
,
"
he
answers
,
with
emotion
,
fixing
his
upbraiding
eyes
upon
her
—
"
because
I
was
smarting
miserably
under
the
blow
you
had
just
given
me
—
you
,
who
had
made
me
mistrust
everything
attractive
,
and
womanly
,
and
innocent-seeming
.
I
was
obliged
to
marry
some
one
;
that
is
one
of
the
many
curses
attached
to
being
an
eldest
son
,
and
the
last
male
heir
of
an
inconveniently
old
family
.
I
said
to
myself
,
'
She
is
too
dull
to
deceive
me
,
too
passionless
to
disgrace
me
.
'
I
chose
her
because
she
was
,
of
all
the
women
I
knew
,
the
one
least
capable
of
calling
forth
emotion
of
any
kind
whatever
in
me
—
consequently
,
the
one
most
powerless
to
make
me
suffer
.
"
The
words
of
his
defence
came
quick
and
hurried
.
She
is
silent
for
a
moment
;
then
,
uplifting
imploring
eyes
to
his
:
"
Mr.
Gerard
,
"
she
says
,
tremblingly
,
"
the
twenty-four
hours
you
asked
me
to
allow
you
yesterday
are
nearly
expired
:
have
you
come
to
say
'
good-bye
'
to
me
?
If
so
,
it
is
well
;
you
remember
your
promise
?
"
"
I
remember
it
,
"
he
answers
,
slowly
,
"
and
I
am
prepared
to
—
break
it
.
Do
n't
look
so
reproachful
,
Esther
!
I
am
ready
to
make
you
as
good
a
one
instead
.
I
am
ready
to
swear
,
"
he
says
,
his
face
all
kindling
in
the
grey
cold
morning
with
eager
passion
—
"
I
am
ready
to
swear
to
you
that
I
will
never
leave
you
again
,
unless
you
send
me
away
,
until
death
do
us
part
.
Will
that
promise
do
as
well
as
the
other
?
"
She
gives
a
little
cry
of
astonishment
.
"
What
do
you
mean
?
"
she
asks
,
faintly
,
moving
a
step
farther
away
from
him
.
"
I
mean
,
"
he
says
,
solemnly
,
his
countenance
all
shining
with
the
light
of
a
great
new
joy
,
"
that
I
am
sick
of
my
life
without
you
,
Esther
;
and
you
—
you
are
sick
of
yours
without
me
,
are
n't
you
?
"
She
cannot
deny
it
,
and
is
unwilling
to
allow
it
;
so
keeps
a
troubled
silence
.
"
There
must
be
some
reason
,
"
he
continues
,
passionately
,
"
for
your
failing
health
,
for
your
thin
white
cheeks
,
for
your
total
loss
of
beauty
"
(
with
a
smile
)
,
"
as
Constance
tersely
worded
it
yesterday
.
Am
I
right
;
or
is
it
my
conceit
that
makes
me
think
that
I
have
some
concern
in
the
change
?
"
"
You
are
mistaken
,
"
she
cries
,
hastily
—
the
idea
that
pity
for
her
miserable
appearance
has
brought
him
back
to
her
flashing
gallingly
across
her
mind
.
"
I
was
very
fond
of
you
—
very
;
it
was
a
great
grief
to
me
when
you
threw
me
away
from
you
;
but
I
could
have
done
without
you
,
if
—
if
—
I
had
not
lost
my
boy
.
"
She
turns
away
,
to
hide
her
quivering
lips
and
swelling
tears
:
it
is
so
seldom
that
she
speaks
of
her
dead
,
that
the
mere
naming
of
him
seems
to
make
his
loss
the
clearer
.
Gerard
's
face
falls
a
little
.
"
Could
you
?
"
he
says
,
simply
and
sadly
.
"
No
doubt
!
I
was
unreasonable
to
suppose
that
I
could
be
indispensable
to
any
one
.
"
They
walk
on
in
silence
side
by
side
.
It
is
beginning
to
rain
,
heavy
drops
ushering
in
a
winter
storm
.
The
deer-barn
is
near
—
the
deer-barn
,
with
steep
red
roof
,
lichen-painted
,
standing
on
a
little
rise
,
among
a
company
of
ancient
hornbeams
,
whose
twisted
trunks
lean
this
way
and
that
.
For
the
last
twenty
years
,
every
young
lady
that
has
come
to
stay
at
the
hall
has
sketched
the
deer-barn
.
"
This
is
not
fit
weather
for
you
to
