“Here we are at last!” said Samuel. “Welcome to your home, Joan Rock!” And he made a movement as though to embrace her, which she avoided by walking straight past him to the farther side of the table. “You’ll be wanting something to eat, Joan,” he went on. “There’s plenty in the house if you don’t mind cooking it. You see I haven’t got any servants here at present,” he added apologetically, “as you weren’t expected so soon; and the old woman who comes in to do for me is away sick.” “Certainly I will cook the food,” Joan answered. “That’s right, dear—I was afraid that you might be too grand but perhaps you would like to wash your hands first while I light the fire in the kitchen stove. Come here,” and he led the way through the door near the fireplace to the foot of an oaken stair. “There,” he said, “that’s our room, on the right. It’s no use trying any of the others, because they’re all locked up. I shall be just here in the kitchen, so you will see me when you come down.” Joan went upstairs to the room, which was large and well furnished, though, like that downstairs, badly lighted by one window only, and secured with iron bars, as though the place had been used as a prison at some former time. Clearly it was Samuel’s own room, for his clothes and hats were hung upon some pegs near the door, and other of his possessions were arranged in cupboards and on the shelves. Almost mechanically she washed her hands and tidied her hair with a brush from her handbag. Then she sat down and tried to think, to find only that her mind had become incapable, so numbed was it by all that she had undergone, and with the terrors mental and bodily of her present position. Nor indeed was much time allowed her for thought, since presently she heard the hateful voice of her husband calling to her that the fire was ready. At first she made no answer, whereon Samuel spoke again from the foot of the stairs, saying,— “If you won’t come down, dear, I must come up, as I can’t bear to lose sight of you for so long at a time.” Then Joan descended to the kitchen, where the fire burnt brightly and a beef-steak was placed upon the table ready for cooking. She set to work to fry the meat and to boil the kettle and the potatoes; while Samuel, seated in a chair by the table, followed her every movement with his eyes. “Now, this is what I call real pleasant and homely,” he said, “and I’ve been looking forward to it for many a month as I sat by myself at night. Not that I want you to be a drudge, Joan—don’t you think it. I’ve got lots of money, and you shall spend it: yes, you shall have your carriage and pair if you like.” “You are very kind,” she murmured, “but I don’t wish to live above my station. Perhaps you will lay the table and bring me the teapot, as I think that the steak is nearly done.”