Tina wept; and at some distance the companion of her danger was returning with an uneasy conscience to his home, all unconscious as yet of this new peril, but still sore hearted as he had never been before. He did not linger to look at the blood-red radiance, which lay as a reflection of the sunset on the Fens, or to indulge in any delicious expectations of spending the evening at the Manor Farm. With the fear of detection heavy on his soul he sat down silently in a corner of the cottage. If any discovery were to occur that night he would wait for it in his home. The blood-red radiance, that seemed like a dream of judgment, paled, faded, and the evening twilight came; and then the moon rose behind a dim, fleecy sky, with streaks of dark blue between the pallor of the clouds. No servant came through that clear, sober light to summon the unfaithful messenger to the presence of the Squire; and, although a few footsteps passed down the Thackbusk lane, the cottage near the Thackbusk was left unvisited. It was not until the depth of the night had come that, according to the report of the morning, there arrived a visitor. Was it true? Oh, could it be true? The startling rumour fled faster through the village than the first report had done, awakening the excitement of an eager curiosity, and of a gossip that would be in no haste to cease. For it was said that in the dead of that August night a figure had been seen lying on the door-step of Jenny Salter’s home; and that two labourers, returning from their work, had paused by its side, and had then aroused the house. It was Annie Salter who lay there in the darkness, forlorn, exhausted, too much worn out to move, her hair loose, untended, and hanging upon her shoulders, and on one of the fingers of her hand a wedding-ring. In this manner, after her mysterious disappearance, the daughter of Jenny returned once more to her home. CHAPTER XXI LYING ON THE DOOR-STEP IF there were any truth in the oft-repeated assertion that Mrs Salter was very ‘proud and high,’ and that the reason of her preference for solitude lay rather in a sense of superiority than a love of loneliness, the errors of poor Jenny, even in the opinion of her enemies, must have been held to have received due punishment when that fatal night arrived. Upon the door-step!--there, lying on the door-step!--Annie Salter, who had been reckoned the beauty of the place, Annie Salter, who had always held her head so high, and would not have anything to say to any lad! The reputation of Jenny’s daughter had fallen very low, so low that it lay in the dust where last night her head had lain; the idlest gossip was busied about her name, the most cruel judgment did not seem too hard for her. Oh! beautiful Annie, the most beautiful of the village daughters, would your mother ever raise her head with a mother’s pride again?