There was a light in Job's window; a strange sight in his orderly and childless home. The red glare it cast across the road was struggling with the growing dawn. As Roger approached, it was put out; and just when he reached the door it was opened, and Job's tall figure issued forth. Job strode forward and grasped Roger's hand. "Thee had best not be roaming about the country by theeself in the dark like a ghost," said he. "It's wisht!" "Is anything the matter?" asked Roger, diverting the conversation from himself. "There's nought the matter with us," said Job. "There was a light in your window, so I thought Rachel might be ill," said Roger. "There's nought ailing with us," repeated Job; and after some hesitation he added, "We were but thinking of thee." "You used not to need a lamp to think by," said Roger, touched more than he liked to show. "No, nor to pray by," said Job. "But we wanted a promise, she and I." (Job seldom called his wife anything but she.) "We wanted a promise, Master, for thee. For she thought the devil would be sure to be busy with thee just now, and so did I." "Did you find one?" asked Roger. "They are as plenty as the stars," said Job, "but we couldn't light on the one that would fit. And it's bad work hammering them promises to fit if they don't go right at first." "As many as the stars, and not one that fits me!" said Roger, unintentionally betraying the struggles of the night. "Peace, and pardon, and everything every one wants, but not what I want. You found none, Job! Then, of course, there was nothing more to be done. You and Rachel wouldn't give in easily."