When I had arranged my dress, I went down stairs to the room which now was the drawing-room, but which had been our dining-parlor in past days. It was a large long room, spacious but not bright, with one great window opening to the lawn, and a smaller one in the corner of the wall. When I entered, he was walking about with an expectant look upon his face--he started and made a step forward as if to advance to me as I came in, but though I saw him perfectly, I did not look at him, and he stopped and returned again. I went to the window to look out upon the lawn, and the great walnut tree, which I could only see imperfectly from this point--then I took a seat in silence. A painful interval followed. I sat quite still, vacantly looking out. He paced about the room with unequal steps--sometimes rapidly and with impatience. We were neither of us doing anything--we were like two enemies watching each other, ready to strike. I do not think that till that moment either of us realized what a frightful thing it was to live together, confined within the same walls, and with this feud between us. "How are you pleased, Hester, with the new arrangements--the furniture--the house?" he said, throwing down a book upon the table, somewhat noisily, in his extreme agitation. "I am quite pleased--it is all very well," I answered. I found it difficult to command my own voice. I suddenly was seized with a wild wonder, why we were placed here to torture each other. It might preserve appearances, but we surely would have been better with the whole world between us, than together as we were. "When we were boy and girl we had a conversation here," he went on rapidly, now coming up to me: "do you recollect it, Hester?" "Yes," I said, "then I believed in you, and pointed to my father the picture you resembled. My dear father! I thank God he does not see us to-day." "What picture did I resemble, Hester?" he asked, with a good deal of emotion in his voice. I pointed to it with a quick gesture, I could not trust myself to speak. "You took my part," he said, "you had compassion for me. You bore me witness that I was no deceiver; and, Hester, your face, your voice, your generous, brave, girlish frankness, have made my heart warm since that day." I held up my hand in entreaty. I could not bear it. "No, I will not persecute you," he said; "no, do not fear me. We will gain nothing by discussions of the old question. I bid you welcome home to your own house. I will say nothing else. I will now relieve you of my presence, and I am sure you will thank me for that, at least."