ave shown it, if he had been.

"Oh, go to bed," she cried in a low voice. "We'll lock up. We don't want
anything, anything at all."

"Very good. Good-night, ma'am."

What an escape! Suppose Cecily had seen her at the window!

But Cecily was not looking at the window. She moved to the far end of
the bridge and stood gazing up toward Merrion, where one light twinkled
in an upper room. Mina saw her stretch out her arms for a moment toward
the sky. What had happened? It was impossible that he had gone away!
Mina craned her head out of the window, looking and listening. Happen
what might, be the end of it what it might, this situation was
deliciously strong of the Tristrams. They were redeeming their
characters; they had not settled down into the ordinary or been gulfed
in the slough of the commonplace. Unexpected appearances and midnight
interviews of sentimental moment were still to be hoped for from them.
There was not yet an end of all.

He came; Mina saw his figure on the road, at first dimly, then with a
sudden distinctness as a gleam of moonlight shone out. He stood a little
way up the road to Cecily's right. She did not see him yet, for she
looked up to Merrion. He took a step forward, his tread sounding loud on
the road. There was a sudden turn of Cecily's head. A moment's silence
followed. He came up to her, holding out his hand. She drew back,
shrinking from it. Laying her hands on the gate of the bridge, she
seemed to set it as a fence between them. Her voice reached Mina's ears,
low, yet as distinct as though she had been by her side, and full of a
terrified alarm and a bitter reproach.

"You here! Oh, you promised, you promised!"

With a bound Mina's conscience awoke. She had heard what no ears save
his had any right to hear. What if she were found? The conscience was
not above asking that, but it was not below feeling an intolerable shame
even without the discovery that it suggested as her punishment. Blushing
red there in the dark, she slipped from the window-seat and groped her
way to a chair. Here she flung herself down with a sob of excitement and
emotion. He had promised. And the promise was broken in his coming.

Now she heard their steps on the path outside; they were walking toward
the house. Telling herself that it was impossible for her to move now,
for fear she should encounter them, she sank lower in her arm-chair.

"Well, where shall we go?" she heard Cecily ask in cold, stiff tones.

"