n contrast to the slight worldly constraint
of Barker's manner; it seemed as if they had changed characters. And
then she extended her hand.

With a low bow, and without looking up, he took it. Again their
pulses seemed to leap together with one accord and the same mysterious
understanding. He could not tell if he had unconsciously pressed her
hand or if she had returned the pressure. But when their hands unclasped
it seemed as if it were the division of one flesh and spirit.

She remained standing by the open door until his footsteps passed down
the staircase. Then she suddenly closed and locked the door with an
instinct that Mrs. Barker might at once return now that he was gone, and
she wished to be a moment alone to recover herself. But she presently
opened it again and listened. There was a noise in the courtyard, but it
sounded like the rattle of wheels more than the clatter of a horseman.
Then she was overcome--a sudden sense of pity for the unfortunate
woman still hiding from her husband--and felt a momentary chivalrous
exaltation of spirit. Certainly she had done "good" to that wretched
"Kitty;" perhaps she had earned the epithet that Barker had applied to
her. Perhaps that was the meaning of all this happiness to her, and the
result was to be only the happiness and reconciliation of the wife and
husband. This was to be her reward. I grieve to say that the tears had
come into her beautiful eyes at this satisfactory conclusion, but she
dashed them away and ran out into the hall. It was quite dark, but there
was a faint glimmer on the opposite wall as if the door of Mrs. Barker's
bedroom were ajar to an eager listener. She flew towards the glimmer,
and pushed the door open: the room was empty. Empty of Mrs. Barker,
empty of her dressing-box, her reticule and shawl. She was gone.

Still, Mrs. Horncastle lingered; the woman might have got frightened and
retreated to some further room at the opening of the door and the coming
out of her husband. She walked along the passage, calling her name
softly. She even penetrated the dreary, half-lit public parlor,
expecting to find her crouching there. Then a sudden wild idea took
possession of her: the miserable wife had repented of her act and of
her concealment, and had crept downstairs to await her husband in the
office. She had told him some new lie, had begged him to take her with
him, and Barker, of course, had assented. Yes, she now knew why she
had heard the rattlin