_We_ know what she saw. A cosy farm parlour, with red-tiled floor, a round table spread with a clean coarse cloth, decorated by a blue mug, filled with mignonette and sweet pea, black-handled knives and forks, willow-pattern delf plates, a young man eating his frugal dinner alone, and opposite to him an empty chair--_her_ chair. She saw in another room a curious old wooden cradle, with a pointed half-roof, which had rocked many a Holt in its day. Inside it lay a child that was not a Holt, a child of a different type, a child with black lashes, and a feeding-bottle in its vicinity. (Now, Mrs. Holt’s progeny had never been brought up by hand.) _Her_ baby! Oh, if papa were only to know! she thought, and the idea pierced her heart like a knife, as she looked across at him, where he sat smiling, conversational, and unsuspicious. He would turn her out now this very instant into the square, were he to catch a glimpse of those two living pictures. He was unusually animated on the subject of some shooting he had heard of, and he had two attentive and, shall we confess it, personally interested listeners--listeners who had rosy visions of shooting the grouse on those very moors, as Mr. West’s guests. So, for awhile, Madeline was left to her own thoughts, and they travelled back to her earliest married days, the pleasant little sitting-room on the first floor at No. 2, the bright fires, bright flowers, new music, and cosy dinners (the mutton-chop period), when all her world was bounded by Laurence. Was it not still the case? Alas, no! The bald-headed gentleman opposite, who was haranguing about “drives and bags,” held a bond on her happiness. He had to be studied, obeyed, and--deceived! Would she be able to play her part? Would she break down? When he looked at her, as he had done that evening, her heart failed her. She felt almost compelled to sink at his feet and tell him all. It was well she had restrained herself. She resolved to save for a rainy day some of the money he was to give her on the morrow. Yes, the clouds were beginning to gather, even now. Oh, what a wicked wretch she felt at times! But why had cruel fate pushed her into such a corner? Why was her father so worldly and ambitious? Why had she failed to put forward Laurence’s plea, his own long absence and silence, and thus excuse herself once for all? Easy to say this now, when that desperate moment was over--it is always so easy to say these things afterwards! She had given her father a solemn promise (and oh, what a hollow promise it was!), and she was to receive her reward in diamonds of the first water--diamonds that would blind the ordinary and unaccustomed eye!