I had my mantle on, and the hood drawn over my head. It was not unusual for me to wander along this quiet country lane in such a simple dress, for there were no passengers here, except the rectory people or villagers from Cottisbourne, and I was close by home. It was late in the afternoon the first day of November, and the weather was dark and cloudy. My husband was in the library, where he always sat; baby was in his cosy nursery up-stairs, in the careful hands of Alice. He, dear little fellow, always wanted me, and I was never unhappy while with him--but darkness and discontent had settled on me now. I realized to myself vividly that gloomy picture of a household--two dull large rooms closely adjoining each other, the young husband shut up in one, the wife in another. Why was it?--he was the first to blame;--why did he fail to yield me now what was due to a woman? Would it not have been generous to take the explanation on himself, and disperse this dreadful stifling mist which every day grew closer around us;--to say--"we have been wrong; let us forget it all, and begin our life again." He ought to say it--it was my part to wait for him, not he for me; he owed me this, as the last and only reparation he could make for the first deceit which I had forgiven. So I reasoned to myself as I wandered along this solitary road; there was more resentment, more displeasure in my mind than there had been for many a day. It was unnatural, it was shocking, the state of things which now existed. I began to grow indignant at him for not doing what it so clearly seemed his part to do. At this moment I saw Miss Saville advancing very slowly and dully along the road. She was so active and brisk a person at all times, that I was surprised to see the heaviness of her look and face to-day. She came forward reluctantly, as if every step she took added to her burden. Her mind was evidently oppressed and ill at ease, for she looked round her on every side, and started at trivial sounds as if in fear. When she saw me she suddenly stopped, and a red color came to her face. She was not young, and had never been at all pretty. I cannot call this a flush, but only a painful burning red which came to her cheeks--shame, and distress, and fear. I did not want to embarrass and distress her--I knew how much good lay under her formality and her pretensions now. "Do not let me disturb you," I said eagerly; "do not mind me at all, pray, Miss Saville; I see you are engaged." She waited till I came up to her, looking at me all the time. "I was coming to seek you," she said; "where were you going, Mrs. Southcote? are you at leisure? I have something to say to you." "I was going nowhere," I said. "I am quite at your service--what is it?"