‘A plague upon Sebastian Shepley, and a plague upon Constancy and Love and all the Virtues!’ he said as he rose from his chair at last; ‘and equally a plague upon Richard Meadowes, and Treachery and Passion and all the Vices,’ he added, as he stood looking down at the last embers of the wood-fire that glowed on the hearth. He gave an angry kick to the red ashes with the toe of his riding-boot that sent a shower of scarlet sparks up into the air; they fell down a moment later in soft grey ash, and the fire was out. ‘The end of all hot fires,’ said Meadowes, as he groped his way across to the door. CHAPTER VI ‘Business,’ Meadowes explained to Anne a few days after this, ‘was taking him out of London.’ His absence, too, might be somewhat prolonged. He left ample means with his friend Mr. Prior (‘the parson who wedded us, Anne’), and these moneys were to be forwarded by him to Anne at regular intervals; she would want for nothing. Anne took the news quietly, as was her way, and hoped his business might delay ‘Dick’ a shorter time than he anticipated. Meadowes, however, knew his own mind now, and was quite decided as to the length of time he would be absent from Anne. In the spring a child would be born to them, and after that he would come and tell her everything; till then it might be brutal to disturb her present peace of mind. But after the event it must be done, and the sooner the better. This had been his ultimate decision. Still, decisions being more easily taken than put into execution, Anne had been a very proud and happy mother for some eight weeks before Meadowes found it possible to speak to her of the matter of their supposed marriage. And even then his hand was, so to speak, forced. He had ridden out from town in haste one summer morning, and now sat in the porch with Anne, wondering why after all he had come, for tell her he could not, though he had started with the determination to do so. ‘For certain, Dick, you be mighty silent,’ said Anne at last, looking up from her sewing. ‘I am annoyed over business,’ said Meadowes lamely, looking down at the ground. ‘And a fine packet of letters unopened in your pocket too,’ laughed Anne, pointing with her needle at the bundle as she spoke. ‘I rode off in such haste,’ began Meadowes absently, then he took the letters from his pocket and turned them over one by one. ‘From my lawyer—from Simon Prior—from——’ He stopped short and looked hard at the third letter, shook his head, and broke the seal to glance at its contents. ‘Lor’, Dick! what hath come to you?’ cried Anne, throwing aside her work a moment later, for she had caught sight of his face; it was grown suddenly grey and rigid. She stepped behind him, laying her hand on his shoulder, and glanced down at the sheet of paper he held. ‘Nothing, Anne—a mere joke,’ said Meadowes quickly, crumpling up the paper as if Anne could have read what was written on it.