here. The shrine
is shivered, the marble pavement round split and blackened. Saturnia's
statue rises chaste, grand, untouched; at her feet piled ashes lie pale.
No priest remains; he who watched will be seen no more.

* * * * *

"There is the carriage! Let me lock up the desk and pocket the keys. She
will be seeking them to-morrow; she will have to come to me. I hear her:
'Mr. Moore, have you seen my keys?'

"So she will say, in her clear voice, speaking with reluctance, looking
ashamed, conscious that this is the twentieth time of asking. I will
tantalize her, keep her with me, expecting, doubting; and when I _do_
restore them, it shall not be without a lecture. Here is the bag, too,
and the purse; the glove--pen--seal. She shall wring them all out of me
slowly and separately--only by confession, penitence, entreaty. I never
can touch her hand, or a ringlet of her head, or a ribbon of her dress,
but I will make privileges for myself. Every feature of her face, her
bright eyes, her lips, shall go through each change they know, for my
pleasure--display each exquisite variety of glance and curve, to
delight, thrill, perhaps more hopelessly to enchain me. If I must be her
slave, I will not lose my freedom for nothing."

He locked the desk, pocketed all the property, and went.

CHAPTER XXX.

RUSHEDGE--A CONFESSIONAL.

Everybody said it was high time for Mr. Moore to return home. All
Briarfield wondered at his strange absence, and Whinbury and Nunnely
brought each its separate contribution of amazement.

Was it known why he stayed away? Yes. It was known twenty--forty times
over, there being at least forty plausible reasons adduced to account
for the unaccountable circumstance. Business it was not--_that_ the
gossips agreed. He had achieved the business on which he departed long
ago. His four ringleaders he had soon scented out and run down. He had
attended their trial, heard their conviction and sentence, and seen them
safely shipped prior to transportation.

This was known at Briarfield. The newspapers had reported it. The
_Stilbro' Courier_ had given every particular, with amplifications. None
applauded his perseverance or hailed his success, though the mill-owners
were glad of it, trusting that the terrors of law vindicated would
henceforward paralyze the sinister valour of disaffection. Disaffection,
however, was still heard muttering to himself. He swore ominous oaths