I extinguished my candle by dropping my shawl upon it, and groped in vain for matches over the tops of table and shelf. "To bed in the dark, then," I said, pulling off my gloves and the band, from my head, for I felt a tightness in it, and pulled out the hairpins. But a desire to look in the glass overcame me. I felt unacquainted with myself, and must see what my aspect indicated just then. I crept downstairs, to the dining-room, passed my hands over the sideboard, the mantel shelf, and took the round of the dinner-table, but found nothing to light my candle with. "The fire may not be out in the parlor," I thought; "it can be lighted there." I ran against the hatstand in the hall, knocking a cane down, which fell with a loud noise. The parlor door was ajar; the fire was not out, and Desmond was before it, watching its decay. "What is it?" he asked. "The candle," I stammered, confused with the necessity of staying to have it lighted, and the propriety of retreating in the dark. "Shall I light it?" I stepped a little further inside the door and gave it to him. He grew warm with thrusting it between the bars of the grate, and I grew chilly. Shivering, and with chattering teeth, I made out to say, "A piece of paper would do it." Raising his head hastily, it came crash against the edge of the marble shelf. Involuntarily I shut the door, and leaned against it, to wait for the effect of the blow; but feeling a pressure against the outside, I yielded to it, and moved aside. Mrs. Somers entered, with a candle flaring in one hand, and holding with the other her dressing-gown across her bosom. "What are you doing here?" she asked harshly, but in a whisper, her eyes blazing like a panther's. "Doing?" I replied; "stay and see." She swept along, and I followed, bringing up close to Desmond, who had his hand round his head, and was very pale, either from the effect of the blow or some other cause. Even the flush across his cheeks had faded. She looked at him sharply; he moved his hands from his head, and met her eyes. "I am not drunk, you see," he said in a low voice. She made an insulting gesture toward me, which meant, "Is this an adventure of yours?" The blaze in her eyes kindled a more furious one in his; he stepped forward with a threatening motion. Anger raged through me--like a fierce rain that strikes flat a violent sea. I laid my hand on her arm, which she snapped at like a wolf, but I spoke calmly: "You tender, true-hearted creature, full of womanly impulses, allow me to light my candle by yours!" I picked it from the hearth, lighted it, and held it close to her face, laughing, though I never felt less merry. But I had restrained him. He took the candle away gently. "Leave the room," he said to her. She beckoned me to go. "No, you shall go." They made a simultaneous movement with their hands, he to insist, she to deprecate, and I again observed how exactly alike they were. "_Desmond_," I implored, "pray allow me to go."