"By George!--that was one to me! It's quite evident she hasn't taken him into her confidence--doesn't want magistrates interfering--no doubt. And meanwhile she appeals to _me_--she depends on _me_. Whatever happens--she'll have to be grateful to me. That fellow with his wry face can't stop it. What a vision she made just now under the wood--'belle dame sans merci!'--hating my company--and yet compelled to it. It would make a sonnet I think--I'll try it tonight." * * * * * Meanwhile in the dark corridors of Monk Lawrence a woman groping, met another woman. The two dim figures exchanged some whispered words. Then one of them returned to the back regions. Lathrop, passing by, noticed smoke rising from the Daunts' chimney, and was reassured. But in an hour or so he would return to look for Daunt himself. He had no sooner descended the hill to his own cottage, in the fast gathering dusk, than Eliza Daunt emerged. She left the light burning in the keeper's kitchen, and some cold supper on the table. Then with a laugh which was half a sob of excitement she ran down the path leading to the garden cottages. She was met by a clamour of rebellious children, as she opened Mrs. Cresson's door. "Where's Daddy, Liza?--where's Daddy! Why can't we go home! We want our Daddy!" "Hold your noise!" said Eliza roughly--"or it'll be the worse for you--Daddy won't be home for a couple of hours yet, and I promised Fred Cresson, I'd get Mrs. Cresson's tea for her. Lily, stop crying--and get the tray!" The crippled child, red-eyed, unwillingly obeyed. Neither she nor her sisters could understand why they had been brought over to tea with Mrs. Cresson of whose queer half-imbecile ways they were all terrified. Their father had gone off in a great hurry--because of the telegram which had come. And Fred had bicycled down to Latchford to see somebody about a gardener's place. And now there was no one left but Liza and Mrs. Cresson--of whom, for different reasons, the three little girls were equally afraid. And Lily's heart especially was sore for her father. She knew very well they were all doing what was forbidden. But she dared not complain. They had found Cousin 'Liza a hard woman. After Eliza Daunt had left Daunt's kitchen, for the space of half an hour, a deep and brooding quiet settled on Monk Lawrence. The old house held that in its womb, which must soon crash to light; but for this last brief space, all was peace. The twilight of a clear February evening mellowed the grey walls, and the moss-grown roofs; the house spoke its last message--its murmured story, as the long yoke-fellow of human life--to the tranquil air; and the pigeons crooned about it, little knowing.