and hinted at Lucy's
delicious shivers when Richard was again in his rightful place, which
she, Bessy Berry, now usurped; and all sorts of amorous sweet things;
enough to make one fancy the adage subverted, that stolen fruits are
sweetest; she drew such glowing pictures of bliss within the law and the
limits of the conscience, till at last, worn out, Lucy murmured "Peepy,
dear Berry," and the soft woman gradually ceased her chirp.

Bessy Berry did not sleep. She lay thinking of the sweet brave heart
beside her, and listening to Lucy's breath as it came and went;
squeezing the fair sleeper's hand now and then, to ease her love as
her reflections warmed. A storm of wind came howling over the Hampshire
hills, and sprang white foam on the water, and shook the bare trees. It
passed, leaving a thin cloth of snow on the wintry land. The moon shone
brilliantly. Berry heard the house-dog bark. His bark was savage and
persistent. She was roused by the noise. By and by she fancied she
heard a movement in the house; then it seemed to her that the house-door
opened. She cocked her ears, and could almost make out voices in the
midnight stillness. She slipped from the bed, locked and bolted the
door of the room, assured herself of Lucy's unconsciousness, and went on
tiptoe to the window. The trees all stood white to the north; the ground
glittered; the cold was keen. Berry wrapped her fat arms across her
bosom, and peeped as close over into the garden as the situation of the
window permitted. Berry was a soft, not a timid, woman: and it happened
this night that her thoughts were above the fears of the dark. She was
sure of the voices; curiosity without a shade of alarm held her on
the watch; and gathering bundles of her day-apparel round her neck
and shoulders, she silenced the chattering of her teeth as well as she
could, and remained stationary. The low hum of the voices came to a
break; something was said in a louder tone; the house-door quietly shut;
a man walked out of the garden into the road. He paused opposite her
window, and Berry let the blind go back to its place, and peeped from
behind an edge of it. He was in the shadow of the house, so that it was
impossible to discern much of his figure. After some minutes he walked
rapidly away, and Berry returned to the bed an icicle, from which Lucy's
limbs sensitively shrank.

Next morning Mrs. Berry asked Tom Bakewell if he had been disturbed in
the night. Tom, the mysterious, sai