"I have a few weeks to wait, before the ship goes out. My business in this land is accomplished. I only wanted some place to rest in, till the time came, and was reluctant to burden the governor's hospitality for so long a time. Avoiding a formal farewell I found my way here, knowing that the good minister would give me shelter." "Oh, but we have been so troubled at your sudden disappearance: it was very cruel." "Was there any one who felt my loss?" asked Barbara, with a thrill of tenderness in her voice. "Who cared to inquire if I was dead or alive?" "You ask that question in earnest? I will not believe it. How little you knew of the friendship, the love you abandoned!" These words rose to the window less distinctly than the others had done; but Abby felt the form, still encircled by her arm, waver as if about to fall. "Listen--listen," she said, "it is not of himself he speaks." Elizabeth did not answer. Her breath was hushed. With all her soul she listened for the next words. They came like a gush of bright waters. "But now that I find you safe, and have good tidings to carry back to Sir William and Lady Phipps, I will pass in, lady, for I must see another before my hard gallop is quite rewarded. Surely, Miss Parris is not away from home, or ill?" "He thinks of you--he inquires for you!" whispered Abby. "It was surprise, only surprise, that kept him at the door so long." "I will go down. Shall I go down at once? Dear cousin, tell me--don't let me go if it is unmaidenly, or if you think he has been too cold. Shall I go, cousin Abby?" "Yes, go," answered Abby Williams, withdrawing her arm. "He is waiting for you!" Elizabeth smoothed her hair with both hands, looked shyly at her cousin as she turned from the little mirror, and glided away. She entered the lower hall; there between her and her lover stood Barbara Stafford, with the sunshine on her head, but casting a dark shadow across the door-sill. So the young people met with constraint, and each thought the other cold. Barbara Stafford glided away when she saw Elizabeth, and bent her course to the sea-shore. Young Lovel watched her, with a long, earnest look, and when she disappeared behind a grove of orchard trees he sighed deeply, and fell into thought. Elizabeth stood on the threshold, leaning against the mouldings of the door. Her cheek grew red, and she began to tremble beneath the rush of a terrible idea, that took distinct form on that fatal moment. "Strange, strange woman!" muttered the youth. "By what power does she drain the heart of all thoughts that do not belong to herself?"