Strange things often ride beside a man, keep his company in the night watches, walk with him along the familiar paths; strange things the ghosts of “what has been,” the shadows of “what is to be;” and it was most probably a mixture of both these phantoms that caused Squire Dudley to spur his horse, shying in the moonlight—on—and to push forward more rapidly under the elms and the beeches, beside the hedgerows, bare of flower and leaf, across the gleaming brook—home. Where Heather was waiting for him with the old glad look of welcome in her face, with the soft pleading tone in her voice, with the half timid touch laid on his shoulder, “so pleased to see him home again,” she said; “so thankful to be able to tell him Lally was better—much better, and she herself quite rested. Had he been well, and had he settled his business satisfactorily?” He was seated before the fire by this time with his top-coat off, and his feet stretched out towards the warmth. He was at home, and the little bustle of arrival over. The inevitable moment had come at last—the moment when, if he ever were to tell his wife of the impending change, the communication must be made. And yet, looking round, it did seem hard to break up that pleasant home, to leave the familiar places, and strive to set up the household gods of Berrie Down on a strange shrine—in strange niches. The shadows which had pursued him up the Lane must have entered at the open door and sat down beside the Squire, for there was something, not merely of dread, but also of regret, in his heart, when turning, he said to Heather,— “I have news for you.” “Good news,” she said; “anything about Bessie?” “No, nothing to do with any one but ourselves. As for whether my news be good or bad, I cannot tell, for that will depend somewhat on how you take it. What should you say if I told you I had added a thousand a year to our income?” “I should say it was almost too good to be true,” she answered. “But it is true,” he said, “only there is one drawback—we must leave Berrie Down.” “Leave Berrie Down!” she repeated. “I do not mean leave it entirely,” he explained; “but still, for a considerable part of each year, it will be necessary for us to reside in town. We shall have a large house there, rent free, and——” “Tell me what it all means, Arthur,” she said, interrupting his confused sentence. “Begin at the beginning, and explain it to me. Where is this thousand a year coming from? Why is it necessary we should live in town?” She knelt down beside him as she spoke: knelt down, and leaning her elbows on the arm of the chair he occupied, looked up in his face, with those lovely, pleading, sad eyes, that had still the brooding sorrow in them.