Mr. Musgrave, who was waiting up for Lizzie, heard the sound of the cab wheels, and ran to the gate. "Will you come inside, Alfred?" he asked. "No, thank you, I will bid Lizzie good-night here." "I'll be in presently, daddy," said Lizzie, with a kiss, which sent the old man into the house with a light heart. As the lovers stood together in the quiet night, some better influences, born of the peace which surrounded him and of the consciousness of the love which Lizzie bore towards him, entered Alfred's heart, and he experienced a genuine feeling of regret for the folly of the past. It had floated him on to rocks so perilous that his liberty was endangered and his honour was lost. How much better had it been for him and all of them had he avoided the fatal snares! "Let me but once get free," he thought, "and I will take care not to be caught again." In this way do all weak natures repent the consequences of their folly. What was bad in Alfred's nature sprang out of his weakness; his very selfishness only asserted itself when he was in trouble--but then, indeed, it asserted itself with such strength as to sweep aside every other consideration, and as to make it impossible for him to recognise the danger he might inflict on those he loved in his efforts to free himself from the net he had woven for himself. The lovers did not part for nearly an hour. The little that Lizzie said to Alfred soothed and comforted him, and when he bade her the last good-night, and gave her the last kiss, he was in a quieter and better mood than he was when they quitted the theatre. "Will Lily be asleep when you get home, Alf?" asked Lizzie. "I should think so, Liz." "And I should think not so, Alf," said Lizzie, half gaily, half sadly. "See. When you are at home, knock at her door, and if she is awake, give her this kiss from me." She watched Alfred till he was out of sight, then went indoors, where Mr. Musgrave was patiently waiting for her. "Did you enjoy yourself, Lizzie?" "Yes--no," replied Lizzie, taking off her hat and mantle. "It isn't a very lively piece, and Lily was ill. Why, how pale you've turned, daddy! She was better before we left her. It was the piece made her ill, I think." "Tell me more about it, Lizzie; she was well when she went to the theatre?" "O yes, and we thought we were going to enjoy ourselves very much. And so we should have done if the play had been a lively one. But it was horrible. I wouldn't go to see it again for ever so much. Well, and the theatre was very hot and the last scene was so dreadful that Lily fainted. She soon recovered, and we all went to Soho in one cab." "That was right, Lizzie."