make promises again.... He sat by the hearth, with his head bent over the patterns, the easy work which was all she required from him, in the spacious kitchen, warm, lighted, brilliant, which had not the dulness, the sadness of his home. For to-night he would be happy, he would enjoy himself, in Miss Tina’s room, and in her company; he would bask in his love of dreams and reveries, in the sense of expanding faculties and powers. For he was growing older; he was himself aware of it; in the past few weeks he had known new experiences. ‘Ah! ah! it is late,’ cried Tina, as she sprang from her seat with the lightness of movement that belonged to her. ‘Your mother will be angry; you must excuse yourself; you must say that I gave you a great deal of work to do. And you will remember what you must do to-morrow, you must just look in here as you come from the town .... I must have a sight of my sweet uncle’s hand-writing; for, although I am his niece, I have not often seen it. I won’t ever again ask you to do such a thing for me; I don’t want you to get into a scrape, you know .... only just this once .... because I have set my heart upon it .... because it is an occasion that will never come again. He is writing to the Squire on business, but he will speak of my brother’s visit, and I shall know by the look of the envelope the mood in which he wrote. Oh, Nat, you cannot tell what all this is to me; it is more than a foolish fear, it is my _life._’ The ready tears sprang to her dark, shining eyes, which she veiled with one hand whilst she held out the other. He had never seen her in such a mood before, and the sight of her trouble touched him unspeakably. And then, as she took the hand which he scarcely dared to raise, she whispered that he was her friend, her _only_ friend. The words lingered like music in his ears as he went out from the Farm into the dark village-streets. The lights of the Farm were still before his eyes when he paused for an instant on the threshold of his home, listening for the voices of Annie and his mother, hoping that he would not be obliged to speak to them. With the remembrance of a pleasant evening, of Tina’s murmured words, he paused for an instant, then turned the handle, and went in. And then .... he stood still as his sister had done once, but with a more startled dismay, a deeper dread. The cottage was silent, a solitary candle was burning; his mother sat by it with her head upon her hands, a scrap of writing before her on the table, her features pallid, her eyes fixed, scared, and dry. The scrap of writing gave sufficient information; his sister was gone, she had left the cottage that night--whilst he had been occupied with his enjoyment she had escaped in the darkness from her home. CHAPTER XVIII A TERRIBLE NIGHT