out by the steps to be ready the moment the carriages should
come), and I heard him negotiating with her for a shawl for me. She was
quite impatient and peremptory, though _sotto voce_. The children needed
both her extra ones, and there was an end of it.

I did not care at all, and feeling warm with dancing, did not dread what
I had not yet felt. I pulled my light cloak around me, and only longed
for the carriage to arrive. But after we had started and were about
forty rods from the door, quite out of the light of the little tavern,
just within a grove of locust-trees (the moon was under clouds),
Richard's voice called out to Kilian to stop, and coming up to the side
of the carriage, said, "Put this around you, Pauline, you haven't got
enough." He put something around my shoulders which felt very warm and
comfortable: I believe I said, Thank you, though I am not at all sure,
and Kilian drove on rapidly.

By-and-by, when I began to feel a little chilly, I drew it together
round my throat: the air was like November, and, August though it was,
there was a white frost that night. I was frightened when I found what I
had about my shoulders. It was Richard's coat. I called to Kilian to
stop a moment, I wanted to speak to Richard. But when we stopped, the
carriage in which he was to drive was just behind us--and some one in it
said, Richard had walked. He had not come back after he ran out to speak
to us--must have struck across the fields and gone ahead. And Richard
walked home, five miles, that night! the only way to save himself from
the deadly chill of the keen air, without his coat.

When we drove into the gate, at home, I stooped eagerly forward to get a
sight of the house through the trees. There was a light burning in the
room over mine: that was all I wanted to know, and with a sigh of relief
I sank back.

When we went into the hall, I remembered to hang Richard's coat upon a
rack there, and then ran to my room. I could not get any news of Mr.
Langenau, and could not hear how the day had gone with him: could only
take the hope that the sight of the little lamp conveyed.

CHAPTER XV.

I SHALL HAVE SEEN HIM.

Go on, go on:
Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserved
All tongues to talk their bitterest.

_Winter's Tale_.

Of course, the night was entirely sleepless after such, a day. I was
over-tired, and the coffee would have been fatal to rest in any case. I
tossed about restles