origin of
it all. She could not believe she was in her own home;--her married
home;--she felt as if each minute she should wake and find herself
Agatha Bowen, in the old rooms in Bedford Square, with all things else a
dream.

"Oh, that it were," she sighed within herself. "Oh that I had never"--

She paused here--she could not wish that she had never seen Nathanael.

They quitted the cottage and went out into the street, for country
and town blended together in tiny Kingcombe. Mr. Harper closed the
wicket-gate, and looked back upon the little house. There was an unquiet
glitter in his eye, and his chest heaved violently for a few moments.
Then, with all outward observance, he linked his wife's arm in his, and
they proceeded onwards.

At the end of East Street they met Harriet Dugdale--the Dugdales seemed
always wandering about Kingcombe after one another, and turning up at
intervals at odd corners.

"Here you both are! I was looking for my husband. Has anybody seen Duke.
Oh, where on earth is Duke gone to? He said he would be back in five
minutes--which means five hours."

"I left him at the market-place."

"That's an hour ago. He has been home two or three times since then. Do
you think he could get on for a whole hour without wanting the Missus?
Oh, there he is. Stop, and I'll catch him."

He was caught, and led forward prisoner by his pretty wife, who never
once let him go, lest he should slide away again, and become absorbed in
the mysterious electioneering groups that haunted the town.

"Now--Harrie--Missus, just wait--I'll be back in a minute."

"Not a minute! Anne has sent word that she wants you directly--you and
Nathanael. You'll go, brother!"

"Whither?"

"To Thornhurst, to meet Mr. Trenchard and some other folk. You must
start immediately."

Mr. Harper glanced towards his wife, who had dropped his arm; not
pointedly, but as though release were welcome.

"What, couldn't it leave its pet again?" cried Harrie, laughing. "Bless
it, nobody demands that terrible sacrifice. Do you think Anne would
invite husbands without their wives? We are all to go--if you agree,
Agatha."

"Oh, yes!" It was quite indifferent to her where she went, or what she
did.

So they all four started in one of those inimitable conveyances called
dog-carts, which seem to offer every facility for "accidental death,"
either by flying over the horse's head, tumbling under the wheels, or
slipping off behind.

"Where will