Then her heart began to plead for him so hard that she trembled, for she seemed to be awakening, as it were, into a new life, and her dread increased as she more fully realised the power Cyril Mallow had gained over her. She fought hard, and set up barrier after barrier, called up by her intense desire to be honourable and true to her trust. But as fast as she set these up they seemed to be swept away; and, as the excitement brought on by her misery increased, she felt ready to cry aloud to Luke to come back to her and protect her from Cyril Mallow and from her own weak self. "Sage! Sage!" It was her uncle's voice calling up the stairs--a voice by which she could interpret every mood of his spirit; and she knew now that he was very angry. "Sage!" came again in a voice of thunder, and so full of impatience that she was forced to cross to the door, open it, and answer. "I want my tea," came up in an angry roar. It was in Sage's heart to say she was too unwell to come down, but in her then agitated state she could only falter that she would not be a minute, and, hastily bathing her eyes and smoothing her hair, she descended, pale and trembling, to where her aunt was looking very white and startled, and her uncle walking up and down the old-fashioned parlour, impatient for his evening meal, one of which he would rarely partake unless his niece was there to attend to his wants. The Churchwarden's lips parted, and he was about to speak out angrily, but the woe-begone looks of the girl silenced him. "I'll have a cup of tea first, and do it over a pipe," he said to himself. Then aloud-- "Come, my girl, I'm hungry; it's past tea-time," and he took his place at the foot of the table, the others seating themselves, after exchanging a scared glance; and then the meal went on much as usual, only that Mrs Portlock tried to calm herself by constant applications to the teapot, while, in spite of her efforts, Sage could hardly partake of a morsel, for the food seemed as if it would choke her. "Come, come, lass, you don't eat," her uncle kept saying; and the poor girl's struggles to keep back her tears were pitiable. But at last the weary meal came to an end, and as the table was cleared both aunt and niece grew hopeful, for the Churchwarden's brow was less rugged as he went to the ledge where his pipe lay, took the tobacco-box placed at his elbow by his niece, and calmly proceeded to fill his pipe. "Don't look so frightened, Sage," whispered her aunt. "He won't say any more now." "Yes, I shall," cried the farmer gruffly, for his hearing seemed to have become preternaturally sharpened. "Wait till the rooms clear."