Claire said nothing. She seemed to be petrified with shame, and scarcely to feel the cold without from the suffering within. It was pitiful to see her. Bram, long as he had thought over the poor child and her desolate situation, suffered new agonies on finding how deep her anguish was. A sense of unspeakable degradation seemed to possess her, to make every glance of her eyes furtive, every movement constrained. “I will come,” she said humbly, in a voice which was hoarse from exposure. “Of course you will come,” retorted Bram good-humoredly. “And put your best foot foremost too, for----” She interrupted him hastily, coldly. “But let me go alone, please. Thank you for coming; it was very good of you. But I want to go alone. And I want you not to come to see us at the farm. If you do----” Her voice grew stronger as Bram tried to protest, and suddenly she raised her head, and looked at him with a flash of excitement in her eyes. “If you do, I shall kill myself!” “Very well,” said Bram quietly. “Good-bye, then.” He jumped the stone steps, offering the assistance of his hand, which she declined. And he crossed the rough ground quickly, and went through the roofless church on his way back to Chelmsley. Perhaps Claire’s heart smote her for her ungraciousness. At any rate, when he glanced back, after climbing over the fence, he saw that she must have followed him very quickly, for she was only a few yards away. There was a look in her eyes, now that she was caught unawares, which was like a stab to his tender heart. He stopped. She stopped also, and made a movement as if to turn back to run away. He checked her by an imploring gesture. “You will come, really come; you’ve promised, haven’t you?” said he. She bowed her head. He dared not hazard another word. So, without so much as another glance from her, he went quickly up the hill on his return to Chelmsley. What a meeting it had been, after so much anxious waiting! Nothing had been said that might not have been said any day by one casual acquaintance to another. And yet their hearts were nigh to bursting all the time. Bram went straight to the station, hungry as he was. He thought Claire would tell the old woman a better story than he could make to account for her absence all night. And he thought that the sooner he was out of the place the sooner Claire would follow him back to Hessel. Within an hour and a half he was in the train, returning to Sheffield. He sent a message up to the farm on his arrival to prepare Theodore for his daughter’s return, and then he set his mind to his office work for the remainder of the day. When he returned to Hessel that evening he ventured to tap at the kitchen window of the farm. Joan came out to him. Yes, Miss Claire had come, the good woman said, wiping her eyes. And she hoped things might go right. But Meg Tyzack had been hanging about the place, and Joan was keeping all the doors locked.