He had brought much grief to Heather, he would bring no more. He had been tempted, and he had fallen; he had been pressed for money, and he had “borrowed”—that was the way he put it to himself—a few hundreds from Mr. Lukin, and he had vainly striven to replace those hundreds, and now Mr. Lukin was coming to inspect the books, and a worse thing than poverty—disgrace! was without in the street, waiting to cross their threshold. But Heather should never know this; no man, nor no woman, should ever say a Dudley of Berrie Down had committed a felony. There was one way of escape, and his feeble mind clutched hold of that poor straw eagerly: one way—he would take care of himself, and Alick would take care of Heather! CHAPTER XII. THE BITTERNESS OF DEATH. Once inside the house, Heather, all in a flutter, ran up to her own room, and asked herself why she had returned. Even now—even with the consciousness on her that she had done a very foolish thing, at which Arthur would be naturally vexed—she felt she could not have gone on; that the journey, with, that awful dread weighing her down, would have been one of pain instead of pleasure; that it would be far more a holiday to her—far and away more, to stay behind with her husband—her poor, careworn, miserable husband—than to travel through the loveliest scenery on earth. She had told Alick it was a feeling, a foolish though uncontrollable feeling, which made her turn back; but she would have spoken more correctly had she said it was the love of her heart—that love which is stronger than death, more constant than sorrow. Yet she knew she never could make Arthur understand this; knew she never could hope to impress upon him how miserable she had felt after the farewell at the station; how utterly impossible it was for her to go on and be happy, while he remained behind alone. How should she tell him? With a vague desire to break the fact of her return to others before facing her husband, she went downstairs again, and into the kitchen, meaning to tell Prissy, she feared Mr. Dudley would be lonely, and so returned, sending the rest of the family on. She meant to have a comfortable chat with Prissy, for her heart was very full, and she longed to have a good talk with some one; but, when she entered the kitchen, no Prissy was there; no Prissy was in the back-kitchen either, nor in the washhouse, nor in the larder, nor in the coal-cellar, for even into that last hiding-place Heather peeped. Then it suddenly occurred to Mrs. Dudley that there was a terrible look of order about the kitchen; about the pots and pans, the plates and dishes; everything was in its proper position; the chairs were ranged against the wall, the table had no crockery heaped upon it, there was not even a glass-cloth flung carelessly aside.