The husband and wife took a kindly, even affectionate leave of one another. Mrs. Ascott called him "Peter," and begged him to take care of himself, and wrap up well that cold night. And when he was gone, and her sisters also, she lay on her sofa with her eyes open, thinking. What sort of thoughts they were, whether repentant or hopeful, solemn or tender, whether they might have passed away and been forgotten, or how far they might have influenced her life to come, none knew, and none ever did know. When there came a knock at the door, and a message for Elizabeth, Mrs. Ascott suddenly overheard it and turned round. "Who is wanting you? Tom Cliffe? Isn't that the young man you are to be married to? Go down to him at once. And stay, Elizabeth, as it's such a bitter night, take him for half an hour into the housekeeper's room. Send her up stairs, and tell her I wished it, though I don't allow 'followers.' " "Thank you, ma'am," said Elizabeth once more, and obeyed. She must speak to Tom some time, it might as well be done to-night as not. Without pausing to think, she went down with dull heavy steps to the housekeeper's room. Tom stood there alone. He looked so exactly his own old self, he came forward to meet her so completely in his old familiar way, that for the instant she thought she must be under some dreadful delusion; that the moonlight night in the square must have been all a dream; Esther, still the silly little Esther, whom Tom had often heard of and laughed at; and Tom, her own Tom, who loved nobody but her. "Elizabeth, what an age it is since I've had a sight of you!" But though the manner was warm as ever, "In his tone A something smote her, as if Duty tried To mock the voice of Love, how long since flown," and quiet as she stood, Elizabeth shivered in his arms. "Why, what's the matter? Aren't you glad to see me? Give me another kiss, my girl, do!" He took it; and she crept away from him and sat down. "Tom, I've got something to say to you, and I'd better say it at once." "To be sure. 'Tisn't any bad news from home, is it? Or"--looking uneasily at her--"I haven't vexed you, have I?" "Vexed me," she repeated, thinking what a small foolish word it was to express what had happened, and what she had been suffering. "No, Tom, not vexed me exactly. But I want to ask you a question. Who was it that you stood talking with, under our tree in the square, between nine and ten o'clock, this night three weeks ago?" Though there was no anger in the voice it was so serious and deliberate that it made Tom start. "Three weeks ago; how can I possibly tell?" "Yes, you can; for it was a fine moonlight night, and you stood there a long time." "Under the tree, talking to somebody? What nonsense! Perhaps it wasn't me at all." "It was, for I saw you." "The devil you did!" muttered Tom. "Don't be angry, only tell me the plain truth. The young woman that was with you was our Esther here, wasn't she?"