rive from London
either on that evening or the next, and at the sound of voices his
father came to the door fully expecting to see him. A picture of
disappointment seldom witnessed in a man's face was visible in old Mr.
Springrove's, when he saw that the comer was a stranger.

Mrs. Manston asked for a room, and one that had been prepared for Edward
was immediately named as being ready for her, another being adaptable
for Edward, should he come in.

Without taking any refreshment, or entering any room downstairs, or even
lifting her veil, she walked straight along the passage and up to her
apartment, the chambermaid preceding her.

'If Mr. Manston comes to-night,' she said, sitting on the bed as she had
come in, and addressing the woman, 'tell him I cannot see him.'

'Yes, ma'am.'

The woman left the room, and Mrs. Manston locked the door. Before
the servant had gone down more than two or three stairs, Mrs. Manston
unfastened the door again, and held it ajar.

'Bring me some brandy,' she said.

The chambermaid went down to the bar and brought up the spirit in a
tumbler. When she came into the room, Mrs. Manston had not removed a
single article of apparel, and was walking up and down, as if still
quite undecided upon the course it was best to adopt.

Outside the door, when it was closed upon her, the maid paused to listen
for an instant. She heard Mrs. Manston talking to herself.

'This is welcome home!' she said.

2. FROM TEN TO HALF-PAST ELEVEN P.M.

A strange concurrence of phenomena now confronts us.

During the autumn in which the past scenes were enacted, Mr. Springrove
had ploughed, harrowed, and cleaned a narrow and shaded piece of ground,
lying at the back of his house, which for many years had been looked
upon as irreclaimable waste.

The couch-grass extracted from the soil had been left to wither in the
sun; afterwards it was raked together, lighted in the customary way, and
now lay smouldering in a large heap in the middle of the plot.

It had been kindled three days previous to Mrs. Manston's arrival, and
one or two villagers, of a more cautious and less sanguine temperament
than Springrove, had suggested that the fire was almost too near the
back of the house for its continuance to be unattended with risk; for
though no danger could be apprehended whilst the air remained moderately
still, a brisk breeze blowing towards the house might possibly carry a
spark across.

'Ay, that's true enough