But he was very uncomfortable about it in this case. Up to this time, when he had been injudiciously amiable he alone had been the sufferer; but now it was Clare who must bear the brunt. When he reached the village he threw the reins to the groom, and jumped out of the dogcart. “If Miss Arden is downstairs let her know that I have gone for an hour’s chat to Dr. Somers’,” he said; and so started on, with his cigar, in the moonlight, feeling the stillness and solitude a relief to him. How free his old life had been! and yet he had felt himself wronged and injured to be left in enjoyment of so much freedom. Now he was hampered enough, surrounded by duties and responsibilities which he understood but dimly, with one of those terrible domestic critics by his side who had the power which only love has to wound him, and who subjected him to that terrible standard of family perfection which in his youth he had known nothing of, and the rules of which even now he did not recognise. Edgar sighed, and took his cigar from his lips, and looked at it as if he expected the kind spirit of that soothing plant to step forth and counsel him; but receiving no revelation, sighed and put it back again, and thrust his hands into his pockets, and passed along the silent village street with his disturbed thoughts. All was silent in Arden: the doors closed which stood open all day long, and only here and there a faint light twinkling. One in John Horsfall’s cottage, in the little room where Lizzie, his eldest daughter, was dying of consumption; one in old Simon the clerk’s window, downstairs, where his harsh-tempered but conscientious Sally was busy with the needlework which she did, as all Arden knew, “for the shop.” “The shop” meant a certain famous place for baby-linen in Liverpool, which demanded exquisite work--and Sally alone of all the neighbourhood was honoured with its commissions. In her aunt Sarah’s cottage, next door, the upper window showed a faint illumination, and stood open. These were all the signs of life which were visible in Arden. The old people, and the hard-working out-door people who began the day at five in the morning, were all safe in bed, enjoying their well-won repose. The moon was shining brightly, with all the soft splendour of the summer--shining over Arden woods, which looked black under her silver, and making the little street, with its white lines of broken pavement before each door, as bright as day. Edgar’s footsteps rang upon the stones as he crossed those little strips of white one by one. The sound broke the silent awe and mystery of the night, and with his usual sympathetic feeling he did his best to restrain it. He had thrown away his cigar, and had taken off his hat to refresh himself with the cool sweet air, when he heard a cry from the window above. It was the window of old Sarah’s Scotch lodger. He looked up eagerly, for her aspect had awakened some curiosity in his mind. But