"I saw she cared for him alone, and, when Roger fell, though I had my pistol loaded and levelled, I had no heart to fire. But I was never brave enough to tell you I had let him escape and, having waited too long--oh! well there it is--I waited and could not bear to resume my old life. And indeed, George, I think I have been a happy man. You have conjured up the ghost of Belladine to-night and Belladine was and is and will be miserable to the end of his days, but pray dismiss him, vex not his ghost, and take snuff with Horace Ripple of the Great House, Curtain Wells. We are both too old, George, to do anything now. We must depend on young Charles." "And if he should fail?" "We are both old men. We should, therefore, both be able to suffer another disillusion." "I suppose that is true," said Sir George rather sadly. "William----" "Horace," corrected Mr. Ripple. "William," persisted the other, "did I ever mention Thistlegrove Cottage to you?" "Not that I can remember." "'Tis a fine night, full of stars," said Mrs. Tabrum, entering the room with a tray full of brightly burning candles, "and what time would your honours like to be waked up in the morning?" "I will ring my bell," said Mr. Ripple. "I will ring my bell," said Sir George Repington. The two old friends took each a candle, and went upstairs to bed. From the corridor casement they looked out. "What a laugh she had," says Sir George. A gust of wind extinguished his candle, and he shuddered. "That is the way I shall go out." "That is the way we shall all go out," said Mr. Ripple. "And nothing afterwards?" "Darkness." "And nothing else?" "Perhaps a hand in the darkness." _Chapter the Thirty-sixth_ THE SCARLET DAWN The post-chariot that held in its musty recesses Miss Phyllida Courteen and Mr. Francis Vernon rattled on its way with all the vigour imparted by four fresh horses and the exhilarating effect of Plymouth Gin upon the post-boys. A smell of saddlecloths and damp cushions, of leather straps and the dust of oat and hay, clung to the vehicle while over them was wafted the permeating steam of horses' flanks and the pungent odour of hot lamps. "Phyllida, my Phyllida, at last." "Why did you let me travel alone? I was frightened." "My dear," said Vernon, "indeed, I do not know how to explain my neglect, but I wanted to ride out of the darkness and find you alone in the firelight like a maid in an old tale. It must have seemed cowardice to you." "I was frightened," murmured Phyllida, growing breathless at the recollection of Mr. Charlie and Mr. Dicky Maggs lurching round the table in the Travellers' Room. "You longed for me?" Vernon moved closer to his love and took her hand. "Amor," said the girl shuddering, "I think I am frightened now. I think we will go back. I think I have done wrong." "You think all these foolish thoughts, dear life. I know that to-day will be to you a day of days for ever."