‘As I came by just now I saw the lights in Whanland House. It is a long time that it has been in darkness now. I suppose that sawney-faced Macquean is still minding it?’ ‘I believe so,’ said the man, drawing his chair out of the circle of the light. ‘How long is it now since--since Mrs. Speid’s death? Twenty-eight or twenty-nine years, I suppose?’ ‘It is thirty,’ said Robert. ‘It was a little earlier in the year than this,’ continued Lady Eliza. ‘I remember seeing Mr. Speid’s travelling-carriage on the road, with the nurse and the baby inside it.’ ‘You build your fires very high,’ said Fullarton. ‘I must move away, or the cold will be all the worse when I get out of doors. ‘But I hope you will stay and sup, Fullarton. You have not been here since Cecilia came back.’ ‘Not to-night,’ said he, rising; ‘another time. Present my respects to Cecilia, for I must go.’ Lady Eliza sat still. He stood by the settee holding out his hand. His lips were shaking, but there was a steadiness in his voice and a measured tone that told of great control. ‘Good-night,’ he said. ‘I left my horse in the stable. I will walk out myself and fetch him.’ He turned to go to the door. She watched him till he had almost reached it. ‘Fullarton!’ she cried suddenly; ‘come back!’ He looked round, but stood still in his place. ‘Come back; I must speak--I must tell you!’ He did not move, so she rose and stood between him and the fire, a grotesque enough figure in the dancing light. ‘I know everything; I have always known it. Do you think I did not understand what had come to you in those days? Ah! I know now--yes, more than ever, now I have seen him. He has a look that I would have known anywhere, Robert.’ He made an inarticulate sound as though he were about to speak. She held up her hand. ‘There is no use in denying it--you cannot! How can you, with that man standing there to give you the lie? But I have understood always--God knows I have understood!’ ‘It is untrue from beginning to end,’ said Fullarton very quietly. ‘You are obliged to say that,’ she said through her teeth. ‘It is a lie!’ But for this one friendship, he had lived half his life solely among men. He had not fathomed the unsparing brutality of women. His hand was on the door. She sprang towards him and clasped both hers round his arm. ‘Robert! Robert!’ she cried. ‘Let me go,’ he said, trying to part the hands; ‘I cannot bear this. Have you _no_ pity, Eliza?’ ‘But you will come back? Oh, Robert, listen to me! Listen to me! You think because I have spoken now that I will speak again. Never! I never will!’ ‘You have broken everything,’ said he. ‘What have I done?’ she asked fiercely. ‘Have I once made a sign of what I knew all those years? Have I, Robert?’ ‘No,’ he said thickly; ‘I suppose not. How can I tell?’ The blood flew up into her face, dyeing it crimson. ‘What? what? Do you disbelieve me?’ she cried. ‘How dare you, I say?’