and there were hidden threats mixed with his
entreaties. It would be a bad thing for me if I refused to go with him,
he said; I would have cause to repent my folly for the rest of my life.
He said a great deal, using every argument it is possible to imagine; and
there was always the same threatening under-tone. He could not move me in
the least, as you may fancy, Nell. I told him that nothing upon earth
would induce me to leave my husband, or to think ill of him. And in this
manner we walked up and down for nearly two hours, till I began to feel
very tired and faint. My father saw this, and when we came within sight
of Wyncomb Farmhouse, proposed that I should go in and rest, and take a
glass of milk or some kind of refreshment. I was surprised at this
proposal, and asked him if he knew the people of the house. He said yes,
he knew something of Mr. Whitelaw; he had met him the night before in the
coffee-room of the inn at Malsham."

"Then your father had slept at Malsham the night before?"

"Evidently. His letter to me had been posted at Malsham, you know. I
asked him how long he had been in this part of the country, and he rather
evaded the question. Not long, he said; and he had come down here only to
see me. At first I refused to go into Mr. Whitelaw's house, being only
anxious to get home as quickly as possible. But my father seemed offended
by this. I wanted to get rid of him, he said, although this was likely to
be our last interview--the very last time in his life that he would ever
see me, perhaps. I could not surely grudge him half an hour more of my
company. I could scarcely go on refusing after this; and I really felt so
tired and faint, that I doubted my capability of walking back to this
house without resting. So I said yes, and we went into Wyncomb Farmhouse.
The door was opened by a girl when my father knocked. There was no one at
home, she told him; but we were quite welcome to sit down in the parlour,
and she would bring me a glass of fresh milk and a slice of
bread-and-butter.

"The house had a strange empty look, I thought. There was none of the
life or bustle one expects to see at a farm; all was silent as the grave.
The gloom and quietness of the place chilled me somehow. There was a fire
burning in the parlour, and my father made me sit down very close to it,
and I think the heat increased that faintness which I had felt when I
came into the house.

"Again and again he urged his first demand, se