“Ees, the settle’s there,” responded Mrs Caines briskly. “An’ he’ll set on’t jest so comfortable as can be. Now you come along o’ me, mother, an’ get to bed. Don’t you bother yourself no more about Bartlett—he’s all right.” Mrs Sweetapple made no further objection, but went upstairs quietly enough, suffering her daughter to undress her, and getting into bed in obedience to her command. When Alice, the eldest grandchild, who shared her room, came up, she thought the old woman was asleep. But Lizzie was not asleep. She lay there very wide-awake on the contrary, forcing herself to keep quiet with difficulty, until the family should have retired to rest. At last the house was absolutely still: a duet of snores from the neighbouring room announced that Mr and Mrs Caines were sunk in slumber; but Lizzie lay motionless for an hour or so longer; until, in fact, she had heard the church clock strike twelve, and had noted the extinguishing of the street lamp opposite her window. Even then she lay still for a while longer, until the lamplighter’s steps had died away, and the little town itself, which had ever seemed to her so noisy, was wrapped in unbroken silence. Then, stealing noiselessly from the bed, she began to put on her clothes with as much haste as the necessity for caution would admit of. The moonlight streamed in through the uncurtained window, and she could find her way with ease about the little room. The bandbox containing her bonnet was here, on top of the chest of drawers, her cloak hung on one of the pegs beside it; here were her boots, but she would not put them on until she found herself safely in the street. Out of the room she crept, and down the narrow stairs; John and Phoebe snoring unbrokenly on. Here was the door—the back door—oh, what a noise the bolt made in shooting back! She paused breathless, but no sound ensued, either of a hurried foot upon the stair, or of an alarmed cry. With a gasp of relief Lizzie crept out into the night. Sitting down upon the doorstep she donned her boots, the clock striking one just as the operation was completed. One! How late it was! Would Bartlett be tired of waiting? Would he have gone before she reached home? Down the hill she went, as fast as she could, and then across the market place. How quiet all the houses looked as they stood thus with shuttered windows and roofs shining in the moonlight. Now over the bridge and under the chestnut trees, the cool breath from the river catching her heated face, the delicious fragrance of the half-opened leaf buds filling her nostrils.