‘Kannst du des Herzens Flammentrieb nicht dämpfen, So fordre, Tugend, dieses Opfer nicht.’ Towards eight o’clock on the following evening, Mary Heywood and Edmund were the only occupants of the kitchen. The lad was somewhat better and less feverish, and Myles had carried him downstairs and laid him upon his old resting-place, the chintz-covered sofa under the window. There he lay, with a shawl thrown across him; his thin face wasted to sharpness--a waxen pallor on his cheeks and lips; dark rings under his great bright eyes. His almost transparent hands were stretched out upon the couch before him, and his unread book lay open across his knees. Mary had made things as cheerful as she could, so as not to let Edmund know how bitterly they were pinched in order to give him the things he needed. True, the fire was smaller than their kitchen fires were wont to be; and behind the cupboard-doors there was not very much to bring forth for supper; but the place was exquisitely clean and tidy, and so was the girl herself, in her faded gown, and with her pale, pathetic face. ‘Mary,’ said Edmund, breaking a silence, ‘does Miss Blisset never come here now?’ ‘Well, it’s a good while, like, since hoo were here; likely hoo’s had summat to do as has kept her away,’ said Mary, as confidently as she could. ‘I canno’ think why hoo ne’er comes. I could like to see her ... where’s Myles to-neet?’ ‘Gone to the reading-room, he said. I’m some and glad he does go there. Some o’ these chaps is hanging about the livelong day, fair as if they didn’t know what to do with theirsels. I reckon some on ’em will do summat as they shouldn’t before long.’ ‘Has Harry Ashworth been lately?’ pursued Edmund, his thoughts turning towards his friends, now that he felt himself somewhat more free from pain and weariness. ‘Ay--he’s been more than once,’ replied Mary, and her cheeks flushed, and she gave a great jump, as a knock resounded at that very moment through the house. The coincidence was too remarkable. In a moment, however, she realised that the knock was at the front, not the back, door, therefore it could not be Harry Ashworth who knocked; and secondly, it was not at all like his knock when he did come. Wondering who the visitor could be, and casting a critical glance around, to see if the kitchen were as neat as it should be, she stepped out through the passage, and went through the ceremony of unlocking and opening the door. Outside it was dark. Coming from the light of the kitchen she could not see who stood there, but a voice which she had already heard once, and thought pleasant, inquired, ‘Does Myles Heywood live here?’ ‘Ay, he does; but he’s out.’ ‘Oh, is he? I’m sorry. I felt sure he would be in in the evening.’ The visitor still lingered on the doorstep, and inquired again, ‘Do you know how long he will be?’ Mary’s sense of hospitality was stronger than even her dread of Myles’s displeasure.