It was just as though she never meant to leave off shivering. I went to hunt for some sticks, and saw our cook, Molly, in the kitchen amongst the maids. Trust her for being in the thick of any gossip. Bringing the sticks back, I pushed them in, and they soon crackled up into a blaze. Jane sat down and watched them. "I wouldn't be afraid, Jane, if I were you. There must be some mistake." "I'm not afraid--in one sense. That Robert has done nothing wrong willingly, I know. But--he is rather passionate; and there's no telling how they might provoke him. If there is much prolonged suspense; a trial, or anything of that sort--well, I suppose I shall live through it." How hopeless she looked! her head bent, her eyes cast down. Just then there was a cry outside for Jane. "Jane!" "Go out, Johnny, and say I am all right. _Pray_ to them to leave me alone. Tell mamma not to come in; I am easier by myself--and the fire's burning up. They have gone calling upstairs; they wouldn't think I am here." Was there anything incoherent in her words? I looked at her narrowly. I suppose that they sounded something like it. "One has been coming to soothe me, and another has been coming; I haven't known how to bear it. They mean it in kindness--great kindness; but I would so much rather be alone. You go now, Johnny." So I shut her in. And whispered to Mrs. Coney that she was praying to be left. I don't know how the day went on, except that it was miserably uncomfortable. We had some cold beef in the everyday dining-room, and old Coney, after saying he'd have given a thousand pounds out of his pocket for it not to have happened, went and smoked a pipe with Cockermuth in the best kitchen. Dusk began to come on. Why! who was that--driving up in Robert Ashton's dog-cart? Robert! Robert himself? Yes, it was; and the Squire, and Tod, and Tom Coney with him. The dog-cart had gone to the station to wait for the Squire and the other two: they came, bringing Robert Ashton. "Is it all right, Mr. Ashton?" "Quite right, Johnny. You did not think it could be wrong, did you?" "You are out on bail?" "Out for good. There has been no real damage done. I wonder where Jane is?" "I'll take you to her. She has been wishing she was dead." No one in the house scented his presence. I opened the door of the large oak-room. Jane was kneeling on the hearthrug, her face buried in the cushion of the arm-chair. She started up at the noise, and stood like one turned to stone. "_Robert?_" I do believe she thought it was not real--his ghost, or something. He went up in silence, slightly smiling--he was always a quiet-mannered man--and holding out his hand. "It is I, myself, Jane. You look as though you doubted it." With a great cry she fell forward. Robert caught her to his breast. I was going away when he hastily called to me. For the first time in her life she had fainted away. The thing had been too much for her. "Get some water, Johnny. Don't call any one. She'll soon come to."