On the third night after, he had instructed them to send John with his horse to meet him in Stirling. He expected to arrive there at four or five in the afternoon, and to be home immediately after. With the most zealous care, Agnes recorded all Harry’s directions, and impressed them on the mind of John when he returned. He had seen his master safely off upon the coach, and so far all was well. The third night following was Hallowe’en, and even Lettie, absorbed with the expectation of entertaining her little sentimental friend from Blaelodge, and one or two other children, with the appropriate pastimes of the night, forgot that Harry was coming home. But punctually to the hour, John and the horse trotted out from the gate of Allenders, followed by the wistful eyes of Agnes. Agnes longed to send the carriage; but such was not Harry’s will, and in his present mood she could not contradict him. Great fires blazed in the two family sitting-rooms, for the night was damp and cold, and needed this cheerful gleam to brighten it for the traveller. Some special delicacies for Harry’s dinner were being superintended in the kitchen by Agnes herself, and the glittering tea-service sparkled already before the drawing-room fire, while Rose saw that Harry’s own room grew bright and warm with firelight, and that everything he needed lay ready for his comfort. The early night fell when they were thus employed; but when everything was done that could be thought of, and preparations made as great as if he had been a year away, they sat down in the twilight, crowding about the window, and looking out from the warm flush of light within upon the uncertain grey which lay upon the sky and hills. But the grey tints vanished, and the full gloom of night blotted out the landscape--blotted out even the gate and its trees--the very walnut on the lawn--and palpable blackness pressed upon the window, and upon the eyes which still looked steadily out on this comprest, uncreviced gloom--and Harry did not come. They would not light candles to remind them that he was late--they would not hear the clock strike hour by hour. Sometimes with faint smiles they spoke to each other of the childish mirth whose sounds they could hear ascending from below, but oftenest they were entirely silent, except for a whispered “Listen! I hear the horse on the road,” or “This is Harry now;” but it never was Harry. And the sound of horses’ hoofs seemed to echo perpetually through the starless solemn night. And midnight came, and still they watched--now in a very agony.