SO down into darkness sank that New Year’s Eve, with its half-revealed story, its completed tragedy, leaving town and country provided with surmises, and stirred with much talk, and a store of opinions. The history of the nephew and niece of Mr Lee, their flight in the darkness, the river-side tragedy, the appearance of the wretched girl by the body of her lover, her story and that of her brother, the conduct of Mr Lee to both--the tidings of all these things spread far and wide, and made the talk of the whole of the neighbourhood. There were thrilling statements about a secret marriage, and a separation said to have taken place upon a wedding-night; there was a story also about an opened letter, which, in its turn, could cause excitement. The village of Warton was naturally triumphant, because it knew the parties, and could give its own opinions; it was only by degrees that its triumph became mingled with a sense of dissatisfaction that was certainly natural. For, although it was evident that there had been wrong-doers, it appeared that all the wrong-doers would not meet with punishment--there were some, on the contrary, who would even be _rewarded_, as if they had behaved themselves like honest folk. Poor village! it is hard when tales have not a moral, and where Nemesis does not attend where she is due--although we may always console ourselves by reflecting that the stones of vengeance grind after secret laws, and that it is probable that by some means or other all wrong-doers _do_ arrive at punishment. We would be more contented, no doubt, if we saw that sight visibly; our sense of justice is not satisfied with less; but then, in this world where so much is always hidden, we must take the actions of vengeance, as we take other things, on trust. With these few words, offered humbly, as an excuse for the good fortune that fell to the share of some culprits we have known, let us leave the village to virtue and indignation, and visit those culprits for the last time in their home. That home had been saved from destruction--it had reason to be thankful--but we will not be certain that it was triumphant. For, although it is doubtless a good thing to be rescued from a battle, there are pale ghosts that wait even on our victories. * * * * * On the last night of the May of that year whose commencement we have seen, Nat and Annie were sitting together in their home--in the yellow-raftered room which had echoed to the clamour of the Rantan less than a year before. It is true that Annie ought not to have been sitting up so late, but Nat was with her, and in a few hours he was going away, and some silent impulse on one side and on the other, made the brother and sister desire to spend that evening side by side. Annie also was leaving; she had no excuse for remaining now; she had only asked to be allowed to remain in her old home until her child was born.