They were arm-in-arm; and Mr. Lake held one of my lady's hands, lightly toying with its fingers. He was speaking in low, tender tones--the same tones which had been given to _her_ before their marriage, and had won her heart for ever. What he was saying she could not in her agitation tell, but as they were passing her, going from the house, you understand, not to it, Lady Ellis spoke. "Robert, it is getting dark and cold." Robert! Had she known his wife was listening! It might have made no difference. "The dark will not hurt you," he said, louder. "You are with me." "But it is damp also. Indeed, since I returned from India, I feel both the damp and cold very much." She spoke in a timid, gentle tone: as different from her natural tones, as different from those she used to any _but_ him, as can well be imagined. That she had set herself out to gain his love seemed a sure fact. How far Lady Ellis contemplated going, or Mr. Lake either, and what they may have anticipated would be the final upshot, how or where it was to end, was best known to themselves. Let it lie with them. "There's a shawl of yours, I think, Angeline, in the summer-house. Sit you there while I get it." He left her on the bench, behind which his wife was standing: they touched each other within an inch or two. Clara drew in her breath, and wished the earth _would_ open. Lady Ellis began a scrap of a song, as if she did not like being alone in the darkness. Her voice, whether in singing or speaking, was loud and shrill, though she modified it for Mr. Lake. An antediluvian sort of song: goodness knows where she could have picked it up. Perhaps the stars, beginning to twinkle above, suggested its recollection to her. "As many bright stars as appeared in the sky, As many young lovers were caught by my eye; And I was a beauty then, oh then, And I was a beauty then. "But now that I'm married, good what, good what! I'm tied to a proud and fantastical fop, Who follows another and cares for me not. "But when I'm a widow I'll live at my ease, I'll go all about, and I'll do as I please, And take care how I marry again, again; And take care how I marry again." She had time to sing the three stanzas through, repeating the last line of the first and third verses as a refrain. Mr. Lake came back swinging the shawl on his arm--a warm grey woollen one. "All right at last, Angeline. I could not find it, and had to strike a fusee for a light. It had slipped behind the seat. I began to think you must have carried it away today." "I did not know it was there," she answered. "Don't you remember throwing it off last evening when we were sitting there, saying you felt hot? Now be quiet: I'll wrap you up myself. Have you any pins?" She had risen, and he put the shawl on her head and shoulders; then turned her round and pinned it under her chin, so that only her face was visible. With such care!--oh, with such care!