"You and I will remain as separate as we are at present," answered Elizabeth. "I go with my father. Never will I be with you." "As you will," said Fox, contemptuously. "Your beauty is not such as to make me wish to keep you." "Then so let it be. We have been married, only to part us more than ever," said Bess. Then, turning to Luke, she said, "I cannot help myself. I swore with good intention of keeping my oath, but I cannot even attempt to observe it. He--" she pointed to Fox, "he has shown me how impossible it is." Luke did not speak. The words of Fox had made him indignant; but he said nothing, as any words of his he felt would be thrown away, and could only lead to a breach between him and Fox, in which he must get the worst, as unable to retort with the insolence and offensiveness of the latter. He looked with wonder at Bessie, and admired her quiet dignity and strength. He could see that, with all his rudeness to her, Fox stood somewhat in awe of her. "Yes," said Fox, "Anthony is dead; I do not affect to be sorry, after having received from him a blow that has half blinded me--a continuous reminder of him." "His sister strove to make amends for that yesterday," said Luke, unable further to control his wrath. "You then demanded of her an atonement far more costly than any wrong done you." Fox shrugged his shoulders. "A pretty atonement--when she flouts me, and refuses to follow me." Bessie, shrinking from hearing her name used, entered the house, and went into her father's room. She found the old man there, lying on a long leather couch against the wall, asleep. She stood watching him for a moment in silence, and without stirring. His hair was certainly more grey than it had been, and his face was greatly changed, both in expression and in age. The old hardness had given way, and distress--pain, such as never before had marked his countenance, now impressed it, even in sleep. He had probably hardly closed his eyes for many nights, as he had been full of anxiety about the fate of Hall, and the success of his scheme for its preservation. The last night had been spent in complete and torturing wakefulness. Now Nature had asserted her rights; weary to death, he had cast himself on his couch, and had almost immediately lost consciousness. After observing her father for some little while, Bessie stepped lightly back into the passage, closed the door, then sought Luke, who was standing before the house with his finger to his lips, a frown on his brows, looking at the ground steadily. Fox was gone. Bessie touched him, and beckoned that he should follow, then led him to her father's parlour, opened the door gently, and with a sign to step lightly and keep silence, showed him the sleeping Squire. A smile lighted her homely but pleasant face; and then she gave him a token to depart.