I had Saville's papers in my hand, and was putting them away in a drawer of the old carved cabinet which I had brought back to Cottiswoode from Cambridge, when I heard the door open and some one come in. Some one! I began to tremble so much that I scarcely could turn my head--but I knew it was my husband--that he was alone--and that the crisis had come. He came up to me at once, but with no apparent agitation to counterbalance mine. Scarcely knowing what I did, I took the letters again from the drawer, and stood waiting for him. Yes, he was a little excited--with curiosity at least, if nothing more--he looked keenly at me and at the papers which trembled in my hand--and I waited helplessly, unable to say a word, my heart fluttering to my lips. He could not help but see the extreme agitation which overpowered me. "Hester," he said slowly, his own voice faltering a little, "I heard you were seeking me yesterday in Cambridge." "Yes"-- "Yes?--had you anything to say?--I heard you were disturbed and anxious--I see you are troubled now--can I help you, Hester? It distressed me greatly to leave home-without letting you know--but when you hear the circumstances, I am sure you will pardon"-- "Edgar! never mind," I cried, unable to bear his explanation, "don't speak of that--don't--oh, pray, don't speak to me like this to-day!" I put up my hand--I almost grasped his arm--but he--he only went to bring me a chair--to draw another for himself near me, and to take his place there with what seemed a painful but serious preparation for some renewal of our past contests. It was a significant action--we were to treat--to discuss--even to advise with each other, after a solemn and separate fashion; nothing violent or passionate was to come between us. But I, who had neither calmness nor moderation to bring to this interview, what was _I_ to do? So many words came rushing to my lips that I could not find one reasonable enough and calm enough to say. And glad to divert me from the personal subject, he took the initiative again. He looked at the papers in my hand--"Is it some business matter that troubles you, Hester--are these the cause of your distress?--will you show them to me?" "By and bye," I said, "after--afterwards--first I have something else to say. Edgar! I want to tell you that I have been wrong all this time since ever we were married. I want you to know that I feel I have been wrong--very, very, miserably wrong. I want you to know; I cannot tell how you feel now, nor what is to happen to us--but I have been wrong--I want you to know." A violent color came to his face, rising high to his very hair. He rose up from his seat and went away from me the whole length of the room, with hasty and agitated steps. As for me I rose also, and stood trembling and breathless, looking after him. I could say nothing more--my future was in his hands.