A PAIR OF BLUE EYES, CHAPTER 27 How should I greet thee? Love frequently dies of time alone, much more frequently of displacement. With Delphides I court, a powerful reason why the displacement should be successful was that the newcomer was a greater man than the first. By the side of the instructive and pequant snubbings she received from Knight, Stephen's general agreeableness seemed watery. By the side of Knight's spare love-making, Stephen's continual outflow seemed lackadaisical. She had begun to sigh for somebody further on in man-hood. Stephen was hardly enough of a man. Perhaps there was a proneness to inconstancy in her nature, a nature to those who contemplated from a standpoint beyond the influence of that inconstancy the most exquisite of all in its plasticity and ready sympathies. Partly too Stephen's failure to make his hold on her heart a permanent one was his too timid habit of disbrazing himself beside her. A peculiarity which exercised towards sensible men stirs a kindly chord of attachment that a marked assertiveness would leave untouched, but inevitably leads the most sensible woman in the world to undervalue him who practises it. Directly domineering ceases in a man, snubbing begins in the woman. The trite would no less unfortunate fact being that the gentler creature rarely has the capacity to appreciate fair treatment from her natural compliment. The abiding perception of this position of Stephen's parents had, of course, a little to do with Elfriede's renunciation. To such girls poverty may not be, as to the more worldly masses of humanity, a sin in itself, but it is a sin, because graceful and dainty manners seldom exist in such an atmosphere. Few women of old family can be thoroughly taught that a fine soul may wear a smock-flock, and an admittedly common man in one is but a worm in their eyes. John Smith's rough hands and clothes, his wise dialect, the necessary narrowness of their ways, being constantly under Elfriede's notice, were not without their deflecting influence. On reaching home after the perilous adventure by the sea-shore, night had felt unwell and retired almost immediately. The young lady, who had materially assisted him, had done the same, but she reappeared properly clothed about five o'clock. She wandered restlessly about the house, but not on account of the joint narrow escape from death. The storm, which had torn the tree, had merely bowed the reed, and with the deliverance of night all deep thought of the accident had left her. The mutual avowal, which it had been the means of precipitating, occupied a far longer length of her meditations. Elfriede's disquiet now was on account of that miserable promise to meet Stephen, which returned like a spectre again and again. The perception of his littleness beside night grew upon her alarmingly. She now thought how sound had been her father's advice to her to give him up, and was passionately desirous of following it, as she had hitherto been a verse. Perhaps there was nothing more hardening to the tone of young minds, than thus to discover how their dearest and strongest wishes become gradually attuned by time the cynic to the very note of some selfish policy which in earlier days they despised. The hour of appointment came, and with it a crisis, and with the crisis a collapse. God forgive me, I can't meet Stephen. She exclaimed to herself, I don't love him less, but I love Mr. Knight more. Yes, she would save herself from a man not fit for her, in spite of vows. She would obey her father, and have no more to do with Stephen Smith. Thus the fickle resolve showed signs of assuming the complexion of a virtue. The following days were passed without any definite avowal from Knight's lips. Such solitary walks and scenes, as that witnessed by Smith and the summer-house, were frequent. But he courted her so intangibly, that to any but such a delicate reception as El Friebus it would have appeared no courtship at all. The time now really began to be sweet with her. She dismissed the sense of sin in her past actions, and was automatic in the intoxication of the moment. The fact that Knight made no actual declaration was no drawback. Knowing since the betrayal of the sentiments that love for her really existed, she preferred it for the present in its form of essence, and was willing to avoid for a while the grosser medium of words. Their feelings, having been forced to a rather premature demonstration, a reaction was indulged in by both. But no sooner had she gotten rid of her troubled conscience on the matter of faithlessness than a new anxiety confronted her. It was less Knight should accidentally meet Stephen in the parish, and that herself should be the subject of discourse. El Friebus, learning Knight more thoroughly, perceived that, far from having a notion of Stephen's precedence, he had no idea that she had ever been wooed before by anybody. On ordinary occasions she had a tongue so frank as to show her whole mind, and a mind so straightforward as to reveal her heart to its innermost shrine. But the time for a change had come. She never alluded to even a knowledge of Knight's friend. When women are secret they are secret indeed, and, more often than not, they only begin to be secret with the advent of a second lover. The elopement was now a spectre worse than the first, and, like the spirit in Glen Thinness, it waxed taller with every attempt to lay it. Her natural honesty invited her to confide in Knight, and trust to his generosity for forgiveness. She knew also that, as mere policy, it would be better to tell him early, if he was to be told at all. The longer her concealment, the more difficult would be the revelation. But she put it off. The intense fear which accompanies intense love in young women was too strong to allow the exercise of a moral quality antagonistic to itself. Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear. Where little fears grow great, great love grows there. The match was looked upon as made by her father and mother. The vicar remembered her promise to reveal the meaning of the telegram she had received, and two days after the scene in the summer house, asked her pointedly. She was frank with him now. "'I have been corresponding with Stephen Smith ever since he left England till lately,' she calmly said. "'What?' cried the vicar aghast. "'Under the eyes of Mr. Knight, too.' "'No. When I found I cared most for Mr. Knight, I obeyed you.' "'You are very kind, I'm sure. When did you begin to like Mr. Knight?' "'I don't see that that is a pertinent question, Papa. The telegram was from the shipping agent, and was not sent at my request. It announced the arrival of the vessel bringing him home.' "'Home? What? Is he here?' "'Yes, in the village, I believe.' "'As he tried to see you.' "'Only by fair means, but don't, Papa, question me so. It is torture.' "'I will only say one more word,' he replied. "'Have you met him?' "'I have not. I can assure you that at the present moment there is no more of an understanding between me and the young man, you so much disliked, than between him and you.  "'You don't know, and the less she said about some things the better.  "'Oh, how wrong it all is. I don't know what I am coming to.' "'As matters stand, I should be inclined to tell him, or at any rate I should not alarm myself about his knowing. He found out the other day that this was the parish young Smith's father lives in. What put you in such a flurry?' "'I can't say, but promise, pray, don't let him know. It would be my ruin.' "'Poo, child! Knight is a good fellow and a clever man, but at the same time it does not escape my perceptions that he is no great catch for you. Men of his turn of mind are nothing so wonderful in the way of husbands. If you had chosen to wait, you might have mated with a much wealthier man. But remember, I have not a word to say against your having him, if you like him. And Charlotte is delighted, as you know.' "'Well, Papa,' she said, smiling, hopefully through a sigh. "'It is nice to feel that in giving way to caring for him, I have pleased my family. But I am not good. Oh, no. I am very far from that.' "'Oh, none of us are good, I am sorry to say,' said her father, blandly. But girls have a chartered right to change their minds, you know. It has been recognised by poets from time immemorial. Catullus says, "'Mulier, Cupido, quadricata manti, invento, oh, what a memory mine is. However, the passage is that a woman's words to a lover are, as a matter, of course, written only on wind and water.  They had been standing on the lawn, and night was now seen lingering some way down a winding walk. When Elfrida met him it was with a much greater likeness of heart. Things were more straightforward now. The responsibility of her fickleness seemed partly shifted from her own shoulders to her father's. Still there were shadows. "'Ah, could he have known how far I went with Stephen, and yet have said the same? How much happier I should be!' That was her prevailing thought. In the afternoon the lovers went out together on horseback for an hour or two, and though not wishing to be observed, by reason of the late death of Lady Luxelian, whose funeral had taken place very privately on the previous day, they yet found it necessary to pass East Endelstow Church. The steps of the vault, as had been stated, were on the outside of the building, immediately under the aisle-wall. Being on horseback, both Knight and Elfrida could overlook the shrubs which screened the churchyard. "'Look, the vault seems still to be open,' said Knight.' "'Yes, it is open,' she answered. "'Who is that man close by it, the mason, I suppose?' "'Yes.' "'I wonder if it's John Smith, Stephen's father.' "'I believe it is,' said Elfrida, with apprehension. "'Ah, and can it be? I should like to inquire how his son, my truant protégé, is going on, and from your father's description of the vault the interior must be interesting. Suppose we go in?' "'Had we better, do you think? May Lord Luxelian not be there?' "'It is not at all likely.' Elfrida then assented, since she could do nothing else. Her heart, which at first had quailed in consternation, recovered itself when she considered the character of John Smith, a quiet, unassuming man. He would be sure to act towards her as before those love passages with his son, which might have given a more pretentious mechanic airs. So without much alarm she took Knight's arm after dismounting, and went with him between and over the graves. The mass amazin, recogniser, as she approached, and as usual lifted his hat respectfully. "'I know you to be Mr. Smith, my former friend Stephen's father,' said Knight directly he had scanned the unbrowned and ruddy features of John. "'Yes, sir, I believe I be.' "'How is your son now? I have only once heard from him since he went to India. I daresay you have heard him speak of me, Mr. Knight, who became acquainted with him some years ago in Exembury. "'Aye, I have that. Stephen, very well, thank you, sir. And he's in England. In fact, he's at home. In short, sir, he's down in the vault there and looking at the departed coffins. Elfride's heart fluttered like a butterfly. Knight looked amazed. "'Well, that is extraordinary,' he murmured. "'Did he know I was in the parish?' "'I really can't say, sir,' said John, wishing himself out of the entanglement. He rather suspected than thoroughly understood. "'Would it be considered an intrusion by the family if we went into the vault?' "'Oh, bless you, no, sir. Scholars of folks have been stepping down, because they have to open the porpoise.' "'Will we go down, Elfride?' "'I am afraid the air is close,' she said appealingly. "'Oh, no, ma'am,' said John. We white-lime the walls and arches the gate was opened, as we always do, and again on the morning of the funeral, the place as sweet as a granary.   They may get loose.' "'What nonsense! I have no idea your sentiments are so flimsy-formed as to be perturbed by a few remnants of mortality, but stay out if you are so afraid by all means.' "'Oh, no, I'm not afraid. Don't say that.' She held miserably to his arm, thinking that, perhaps, the revelation might as well come at once as ten minutes later, for Stephen will be sure to accompany his friend to his horse. At first the gloom of the vault, which was lighted only by a couple of candles, was too great to admit other seeing anything distinctly, but with a further advance, Knight discerned in front of the black masses lining the walls a young man standing and riding in a pocket-book. Knight said one word. "'Steven!' Stephen Smith, not being in such absolute ignorance of Knight's whereabouts as Knight had been of Smith's, instantly recognized his friend, and knew by rote the outlines of the fair woman standing behind him. Stephen came forward and shook him by the hand without speaking. "'Why have you not written, my boy?' said Knight, without in any way signifying Alfredo's presence to Stephen. To the essayist, Smith was still the country lad whom he had patronized and tended, one to whom the formal presentation of a lady betrothed to himself would have seemed incongruous and absurd. "'Why haven't you written to me?' said Stephen. "'Ah, yes. Why haven't I? Why haven't we? That's always the query which we cannot entirely answer without an unsatisfactory sense of our inadequacies. However, I have not forgotten you, Smith, and now we have met, we must meet again, and have a longer chat than this conveniently be. I must know all you have been doing. That you have driven, I know, and you must teach me the way.'" As Frida stood in the background, Stephen had read the position at a glance, and immediately guessed that she had never mentioned his name to Knight. His tact in avoiding catastrophes was a chief quality which made him intellectually respectable, in which quality he far transcended Knight. And he decided that a tranquil issue of the encounter without any harrowing of the feelings of either Knight or Alfrida was to be attempted if possible. His old sense of indebtedness to Knight had never wholly forsaken him. His love for Alfrida was generous now. As far as he dared look at her movements, he saw that her bearing towards him would be dictated by his own towards her, and if he acted as a stranger she would do likewise as a means of deliverance. Circumstances favouring this course was desirable also to be rather reserved towards Knight, to shorten the meeting as much as possible. I am afraid that my time is almost too short to allow even such a pleasure, he said. I leave here to-morrow, and until I start with a continent and India, which will be in a fortnight, I shall have hardly a moment to spare. Knight's disappointment and dissatisfied looks at this reply, sent a pang through Stephen as great as any he had felt at the sight of Alfrida. The words about shortness of time were literally true, but their tone was far from being so. He would have been gratified to talk with Knight as in pastimes, and saw, as a dead loss to himself, that to save the woman who cared nothing for him he was deliberately throwing away his friend. Oh, I am sorry to hear that, said Knight in a changed tone, but of course, if you are waiting concerns to attend to, they must not be neglected, and if this is to be our first and last meeting, let me say that I wish you success with all my heart. Knight's warmth revived towards the end. The solemn impressions he was beginning to receive from the scene around him, abstracting from his heart as a puerility, any momentary vexation at words. It is a strange place for us to meet him, he continued, looking around the vault. Stephen briefly assented, and there was silence. The blackened coffins were now revealed more clearly than at first. The whiteened walls and arches throwing them forward in strong relief. It was a scene which was remembered by all three as an indelible mark in their history. Knight with an abstracted face was standing between his companions, though a little in advance of them, Elfride being on his right hand, and Stephen Smith on his left. The white daylight on his right side gleamed faintly in, and was toned to a blueness by contrast with the yellow rays from the candle against the wall. Elfride, timidly shrinking back and nearest the entrance, received most of the light therefrom, while Stephen was entirely in candlelight, and to him the spot of outer sky visible above the steps was as the steamy blue patch, and nothing more. I have been here two or three times since it was opened, said Stephen. My father was engaged in the work, you know. Yes, well what are you doing? Knight inquired, looking at the notebook and pencil Stephen held in his hand. I have been sketching a few details in the church, and since then I have been copying the names of some of the coffins here. Before I left England I used to do a good deal of this sort of thing. Yes, of course. Ah, that's poor Lady Luxellian, I suppose. Knight pointed to a coffin of light satin wood, which stood on the stone sleepers in the new niche. And the remainder of the family are on this side. Who are those two so snug and close together? Stephen's voice altered slightly, as he replied. That's Lady of Friedrich Kingsmore, born Luxellian, and that's Arthur, her husband. I have heard my father say that they, he, ran away with her, and married her against the wishes of her parents. Then I imagine that's where you've got your Christian name, Miss Warncourt, sit-night turning to her. I think you told me it was three or four generations ago that your family branched off from the Luxellians. She was my grandmother, said Elfride, vainly endeavouring to moisten her dry lips before she spoke. Elfride had then the constant stricken look of Guido's Magdalene, rendered upon a more childlike form. She kept her face partially away from Knight and Stephen, and set her eyes upon the sky visible outside, as if her salvation depended upon quickly reaching it. Her left hand rested lightly within Knight's arm, half withdrawn, from a sense of shame acclaiming him before her old lover, yet unwilling to renounce him, so that her glove merely touched his sleeve. Can one be pardoned and retain the offence? quoted Elfride's heart then. Conversations seemed to have no self-sustaining power, and went on in the shape of disjointed remarks. One's mind gets strong with thoughts while standing so solemnly here, said Knight, in a measured, quiet voice. How much has been said on death from time to time? How much we ourselves can think upon it? We may fancy each of these who lie here, saying, For thou, to make my fall more great, didst lift me up on high. What comes next, Elfride? It is the hundred and second Sam I am thinking of. Yes, I know it, she murmured, and went on in a still lower voice, seemingly afraid, for any words from the emotional side of her nature, to reach Stephen. My days, just hastening to their end, are like an evening shade. My beauty doth, like withered grass, with waning luster fade. Well, said Knight musingly, let us leave them. Such occasions as these seem to compel us to roam outside ourselves, far away from the fragile frame we live in, and to expand till our perception grows so vast that our physical reality bears no sort of proportion to it. We look back upon the weak and minute stem on which this luxuriant growth depends and ask, can it be possible that such a capacity has a foundation so small? Must I again return to my daily walk on that narrow cell, a human body, where worldly thoughts can torture me? Do we not? Yes, said Stephen and Elfride. One has a sense of wrong, too, that such an appreciative breath as a sentient being possesses should be committed to the frail casket of a body. What weakens one's intentions regarding the future like the thought of this. However, let us tune ourselves a more cheerful chord, for there's a great deal to be done yet by us all. As Knight meditively addressed his juniors thus, unconscious of the deception practised for different reasons, by the severed hearts at his side, and of the scenes that had, in their earlier days, united them, each one felt that he and she did not gain by contrast with their amusing mentor. Physically, not so handsome as either the youthful architect or the vicar's daughter, the thoroughness and integrity of Knight illuminated his features, with a dignity not even insipient in the other two. It is difficult to frame rules which shall apply to both sexes, and Elfride, an undeveloped girl, must, perhaps, hardly be laden with the moral responsibilities which you attach to a man in like circumstances. The charm of woman, too, lies partly in her subtleness in matters of love. But, if honesty is a virtue in itself, Elfride, having none of it now, seemed, being for being, scarcely good enough for Knight. Stephen, though deceptive for no one worthy purpose, was deceptive after all, and whatever good results grace such strategy if it needed, it seldom draws admiration, especially when it fails. On an ordinary occasion, had Knight been even quite alone with Stephen, he would hardly have alluded to his possible relationship to Elfride. But moved by attendant circumstances, Knight was impelled to be confiding. Stephen, he said, this lady is Miss Swancourt. I am staying at her father's house, as you probably know. He stepped a few paces nearer to Smith, and said, in a lower tone, I may as well tell you that we are engaged to be married. Low as the words had been spoken, Elfride had heard them, and awaited Stephen's reply in a breathless silence, if that could be called silence where Elfride's dress, at each throb of her heart, shook and indicated it like a pulse-glass, rustling also against the wall in reply to the same throbbing. The ray of daylight which reached her face lent to the blue pallor in comparison with those of the other two. I congratulate you, Stephen whispered, and said aloud, I know Miss Swancourt a little. You must remember that my father is a parishioner of Mr. Swancourt's. I thought you possibly might not have lived at home since they have been here. I have never lived at home, certainly since that time. I have seen Mr. Smith, faltered Elfride. Well, there is no excuse for me. As strangers to each other, I ought, I suppose, to have introduced you. As acquaintances, I should not have stood so persistently between you. But the fact is, Smith, you seem a boy to me even now. Stephen appeared to have a more than previous consciousness of the intense cruelty of his fate at the present moment. He could not repress the words uttered with a dim bitterness. You should have said that I seemed still the rural mechanic son I am, and hence an unfit subject for the ceremony of introductions. Oh, no, no, no, I won't have that! Knight endeavored to give his reply a laughing tone in Elfride's ears and an earnestness in Stephen's, in both which efforts he signally failed, and produced a forced speech pleasant to neither. Well, let us go to the open air again. Miss Swancourt, you are particularly silent. You must not mind, Smith, I have known him for years, as I have told you. Yes, you have, she said. She thinks she has never mentioned her knowledge of me, Smith murmured, and thought with some remorse how much her conduct resembled his own, on his first arrival at her house as a stranger to the place. They ascended to the daylight, night taking no further notice of Elfride's manner, which as usual he attributed to the natural shyness of a young woman at being discovered walking with them, on terms which left not much doubt of their meaning. Elfride stepped a little in advance and passed through the church yard. You were changed very considerably, Smith, said Knight, and I suppose it is no more than what we expected. However, don't imagine that I shall feel any less interest in you and your fortunes whenever you care to provide them to me. I have not forgotten the attachment you spoke of as your reason for going away to India. A London young lady was it not? I hope all is prosperous. No, the match is broken off. It being always difficult to know whether to express sorrow or gladness under such circumstances, all depending upon the character of the match, Knight took shelter in the safe wards. I trust it was for the best. I hope it was, but I beg that you will not press me further. No, you have not pressed me, I don't mean that, but I would rather not speak upon the subject. Kevin's words were hurried. Knight said no more, and they followed in the footsteps of Elfride, who still kept some paces in advance, and had not heard Knight's unconscious allusion to her. Stephen bade him adieu at the churchyard gate without going outside, and watched Twelstie and his sweetheart mounted their horses.  Knight exclaimed. How pale you are! I suppose I ought not have taken you into that vault. What is the matter? Nothing, said Elfride faintly. I shall be myself in a moment. All was so strange and unexpected down there that it made me unwell. I thought you said very little.  No, no. Do you think it's safe for you to mount? Quite indeed it is, she said, with a look of appeal. Now then, up she goes, whispered Knight, and lifted her tenderly into the saddle.  Once in the saddle and having a firm grip of the reins, she turned her head as if by a resistous fascination, and for the first time since that memorable parting on the moor outside St. Launce's, after the passionate attempt at marriage with them, Elfride looked in the face of the young man she first had loved. He was the youth who had called her his inseparable wife many a time, and whom she had even addressed as her husband. Their eyes met. Measurement of life should be proportioned rather to the intensity of the experience than to its actual length. Their glance, but a moment chronologically, was a season in their history. To Elfride the intense agony of reproach in Stephen's eye was a nail piercing her heart, with the deadliness no words can describe. With a spasmodic effort she withdrew her eyes, urged on the horse, and in the chaos of perturbed memories was oblivious of any presence beside her. The deed of deception was complete. Gaining a knoll on which the park transformed itself into a wood and copse, night came still closer to her side and said, Are you better now, dearest? Oh, yes! She pressed a hand to her eyes as if to blot out the image of Stephen, a vivid scarlet spot now shone with preternatural brightness in the centre of each cheek, giving the remainder of her face lily-white as before. Elfride, Knight said, rather in his old tone of mentor, You know I don't for a moment chide you, but is there not a great deal of unwombly weakness in your allowing yourself to be so overwhelmed by the sight of what, after all, is no novelty? Every woman worthy of the name, should I think be able to look upon that with something like composure? Surely you think so too. Yes, I own it. His obtuseness to the cause of her indisposition, by evidencing his entire freedom from the suspicion of anything behind the scenes, showed how incapable Knight was of deception himself, rather than any inherent dullness in him regarding human nature. This clearly perceived by Elfride added poignancy to her self-reproach, and she idolised him the more because of their difference. Even the recent sight of Stephen's face and the sound of his voice, which for a moment had stirred a chord or two of ancient kindness, were unable to keep down the adoration, the existent now, that he was again out of view. She has replied to Knight's question hastily, and immediately went on to speak of indifferent subjects. After they had reached home, she was apart from them till dinnertime. When dinner was over, and they were watching the dusk in the drawing-room, Knight stepped out upon the terrace. Elfride went after him very decisively, on the spur of a virtuous intention. Mr. Knight, I want to tell you something, she said, with quiet firmness. And what is it about? Gaely returned her lover. Happiness, I hope. Do not let anything keep you so sad as you seem to have been today. I cannot mention the matter until I tell you the whole substance of it, she said, and that I will do tomorrow. I have been reminded of it today. It is about something I once did, and I don't think I ought to have done. This, it must be said, was rather a mild way of referring to a frantic passion and flight, which, much or little in itself, only accident had saved from being a scandal in the public eye. Knight taught a matter some trifles, and said pleasantly, Then I am not to hear the dreadful confession now. No, not now. I did not mean to night, Elfride responded, with a slight decline in the firmness of her voice. It is not light as you think it. It troubles me a great deal. Fearing now the effect of her own earnestness, she added forcibly, though perhaps you may think it light after all. But you have not said when it is to be. Tomorrow morning, name a time, will you, and bind me to it. I want you to fix an hour, because I am weak, and may otherwise try to get out of it. She added a little artificial laugh, which showed how timorous her resolution was still. Well, say after breakfast at eleven o'clock. Yes, eleven o'clock, I promise you, bind me strictly to my word. A pair of blue eyes, by Thomas Hardy, Chapter XXVIII I lull a fancy, trouble-tossed. Miss Swancourt, it is eleven o'clock. She was looking out of her dressing-room window on the first floor, and night was regarding her from the terraced balustrade, upon which she had been idly sitting for some time, dividing the glances of his eye between the pages of a book in his hand, the brilliant hues of the geraniums and calciolarias, and the open window above mentioned. Yes, it is, I know, I am coming. He drew closer and under the window. How are you this morning, Elfride? You look no better for your long night's rest. She appeared at the door shortly after, took his offered arm, and together they walked slowly down the gravel path, leading to the river and the way under the trees. Her resolution, sustained during the last fifteen hours, had been to tell the whole truth, and now the moment had come. Step by step they advanced, and still she did not speak. They were nearly at the end of the walk when night broke the silence. Well, what is the confession, Elfride? She paused the moment, drew a long breath, and this is what she said. I told you one day, or rather I gave you to understand, what was not true. I fancy you taught me to mean I was nineteen my next birthday, but it was my last I was nineteen. The moment had been too much for her. Now that a crisis had come, no qualms of conscience, no love of honesty, no yearning to make a confidence and obtain forgiveness with a kiss, cut string Elfride up to the venture. Her dread, lest he should be unforgiving, was heightened by the thought of yesterday's artifice, which might possibly add disgust to his disappointment. The certainty of one more day's affection, which she gained by silence, outvalued the hope of perpetuity combined with the risk of all. The trepidation caused by these thoughts on what she had intended to say, shook so naturally the words she did say, that night never for a moment suspected him to be a last moment substitution. He smiled and pressed her hand warmly.  Really, I never once have taught whether your nineteenth year was the last or the present, and by George, well I may not, for it would never do for a staid, phogy a dozen years old of to stand upon such a trifle as that. Don't praise me, don't praise me, though I prize it from your lips, I don't deserve it now. But night being in an exceptionally genial mood, merely saw this distressed exclamation as modesty. Well, he added after a minute, I like you all the better, you know, for such moral precision, although I called it absurd. He went on with tender earnestness. For Elfride, there is one thing I do love to see in a woman, that is a soul truthful and clear as heaven's light. I could put up with anything if I had that. Forgive nothing if I had it not. Elfride, you have such a soul, if ever a woman had, and having it retain it and don't ever listen to the fashionable theories of the day, about a woman's privileges and natural right to practice wiles, depend upon it, my dear girl, that a noble woman must be as honest as a noble man. I especially mean by honesty fairness not only in matters of business and social detail, but in all the delicate dealings of love, to which the license given to your sex particularly refers. Elfride looked troublously at the trees.  I would have had a hat on. She said with a sort of suppressed woe. I will get it for you, said Knight, very willing to purchase her companionship at so cheap a price.  And he turned and walked rapidly back to the house for the article in question. Elfride sat down upon one of the rustic benches which adorned this portion of the grounds, and remained with her eyes upon the grass. She was induced to lift them by hearing the brush of light and irregular footsteps hard by. Passing along the path which intersected the one she was in, and traversed the outer shrubberies, Elfride beheld the farmer's widow, Mrs. Jethway. Before she noticed Elfride she paused to look at the house, portions of which were visible through the bushes. Elfride, shrinking back, hoped the unpleasant woman might go on without seeing her. But Mrs. Jethway, silently apostrophizing the house, with actions which seemed dictated by a half-overturned reason, had discerned the girl and immediately came up and stood in front of her. Ah, Miss Swancourt, why did you disturb me? Must night-dress pass here? You may walk here if you like, Mrs. Jethway. I do not disturb you.  Yes, poor young man, I was sorry when he died. Do you know what he died of? A consumption. Oh, no, no, said the widow. That word consumption covers a deal. He died because you were his own well-agreed sweet-art, and then proved false, and it killed him. Yes, Miss Swancourt, she said, in an excited whisper, You killed my son. How can you be so wicked and foolish? replied Elfride, rising indignantly. But indignation was not natural to her, and having been so worn and harrowed by late events, she lost any power of defence that Mood might have lent her. I could not help as loving me, Mrs. Jethway. That's just what you could have helped. You know I would be gone, Miss Elfride. Yes. You said you liked the name of Felix better than any other name in the parish, and you knew it was his name, and that those you said it to would report it to him. I knew it was his name, of course I did, but I am sure, Mrs. Jethway, I did not intend anybody to tell him. But you knew they would. No, I didn't. And then, after that, when you were riding on Rebels Day by our house, and the lads were gathered there, and you wanted to dismount, and Jim Drake, and George Upway, and three or four more round to hold your pony, and Felix stood back timid, why did you beckon to him, and say you would rather he held it? Oh, Miss Jethway, you think so mistakenly. I liked him best, that's why I wanted him to do it. He was gentle and nice, I always taught him so, and liked him.  It is a falsehood, oh it is, it is, said Alfredo, weeping with desperation. He came behind me and attempted to kiss me, and that was why I told him I never wanted to see him again. But you did not tell your father or anybody, as you would have if you had looked upon a den, as the insult you now pretend it was. He begged me not to tell, and foolishly enough I did not, and I wish I had now. I little expected to be scourged with my own kindness, pray it leave me, Mrs. Jethway. The girl only expostulated now. Well, you harshly dismissed him, and he died, and before his body was cold you took another to your heart. Then, as carelessly sent him about with business, and took a third, and have you considered that nothing, Miss Swancourt? She continued drawing closer, and head on to what was very serious indeed. Have you forgotten that would be runaway marriage, the journey to London, and the return the next day without being married, and that there is enough disgrace in that to ruin a woman's good name far less light than yours? You may have, I have not. Fickleness towards a lover is bad, but fickleness after playing the wife is wantoness. Oh, it's a wicked cruel lie! Do not say it, oh, do not! Because your new man know of it, or you think not, or he will be no man of yours, as much of the story as was known is creeping about the neighbour even now, but I know more of it than any of them, and why should I respect your love? I defy you, cried out freely tempestuously, do and say all you can to ruin me, try, put your tongue at work, I invite it. I defy you as a slanderous woman. Look, there he comes, and her voice trembled greatly as she saw through the leaves the beloved form of night coming from the door with her hat in his hand. Tell him at once I can bear it. Not now, said the woman, and disappeared down the path. The excitement of her latter words had restored colour to Alfreda's cheeks, and hastily wiping her eyes she walked further on, so that by the time her lover had overtaken her, the traces of emotion had nearly disappeared from her face. Night put the hat on her head, took her hand, and drew it within his arm. It was the last day but one previous to the departure for St Leonard's, and night seemed to have a purpose in being much in her company that day, the ramble along the valley. The season was that period in the autumn when the foliage alone of an ordinary plantation is rich enough in hues to exhaust the chromatic combinations of an artist's palette. Most lustrous of all are the beaches, graduating from bright, lusty red at the extremity of the boughs, to a bright yellow at their inner parts. Young oaks are still of a neutral green, scotch furs and hollies are nearly blue, while its occasional dottings over their varieties give maroons and purples of every tinge. The river, such as it was, here pursued its course amid flagstones as level as a pavement, but divided by crevices of a regular width. Through the summer drought the torrent had narrowed till it was now but a thread of crystal clearness, meandering along a central channel in the rocky bed of the winter current. Night scrambled through the bushes which, at this point, nearly covered the brook from sight, and leapt down upon the dry portion of the river-bottom. "'There's Frida! I never saw such a sight,' he exclaimed. The hazels overhang the river's course in a perfect arch, and the floor is beautifully paved. The place reminds one of the passages of a cloister. Let me help you down.' He assisted her through the marginal underwood and down to the stones. They walked on together to a tiny cascade about a foot wide and high, and sat down beside it on the flags, that for nine months of the year were submerged beneath a gushing borne. From their feet trickled the attenuated thread of water which alone remained to tell the intent and reason of this leaf-covered isle, and journeyed on in a zigzag line till lost in the shade. Night leaning on his elbow after contemplating all this looked critically at Elfrida. "'Does not such a luxuriant head of hair exhaust itself, and get thin as the years go on from eighteen to eight and twenty?' he asked at length. "'Oh, no,' she said quickly, with a visible disinclination to harbour such a thought, which came upon her with an unpleasantness whose force it would be difficult for men to understand. She added afterwards with smouldering uneasiness. "'Do you really think that a great abundance of hair is more likely to get thin than a moderate quantity?' "'Yes, I really do. I believe, but I am almost sure, in fact, that if statistics could be obtained on the subject you would find the persons with thin hair were those who had a super abundance originally, and that those who start with a moderate quantity retain it without much loss.'  Perhaps to a woman it is almost as dreadful to think of losing her beauty as of losing her reputation. At any rate she looked quite as gloomy as she had looked at any met that day. "'You shouldn't be so troubled about a mere personal adornment,' said Knight with some of the severity of tone that had been customary before she had beguiled him in desorftness. "'I think it is a woman's duty to be as beautiful as she can. If I were a scholar I would give you chapter and verse of it from one of your own Latin authors. I know there is such a passage, for Papa has alluded to it.' "'Monditie, et anonitas, et cultus, et cetera, is that it? A passage in Livy, which is no defence at all.' "'No, it is not that.' "'Never mind, and for I have a reason for not taking up my old cudgels against you, Elfie. Can you guess what the reason is?' "'No, but I am glad to hear it,' she said thankfully, for it is dreadful when you talk so. For whatever dreadful name the weakness may deserve I must candidly own that I am terrified to think that my hair may ever get thinned.' "'Of course the sensible woman would rather lose her wits than her beauty.' "'I don't care if you do say satire and judge me cruelly. I know my hair is beautiful. Everybody says so.' "'While my dear Miss Swancourt,' he tenderly replied, I have not said anything against it. But you know what is said about handsome being and handsome doing.' "'Poor Miss Hanson does, cuts but a sorry figure beside Miss Hanson is, in every man's eyes, your own not accepted, Mr. Knight, though it pleases you to throw off so,' said Elfride sorsally, and lowering her voice. "'You ought not to have taken so much trouble to save me from falling over the cliff, for you don't think mine a life worth much trouble evidently.' "'Perhaps you think mine was not worth yours.' "'It was worth anybodies.' Her hand was plashing in the little waterfall and her eyes were bent the same way. "'You talk about my severity with you, Elfride.  After taking my trouble to get jewellery to please you, you wouldn't accept it. "'Perhaps I would now. Perhaps I want to.' "'Do,' said Knight. And the packet was withdrawn from its pocket and presented the third time. Elfride took it with delight. The obstacle was rent and twain, and the significant gift was hers. "'I'll take out these ugly ones at once,' she exclaimed, and I'll wear yours, shall I?' "'I should be gratified.' Now, though it may seem unlikely, considering how far the two had gone in converse, Knight had never yet ventured to kiss Elfride. Far slower was he than Stephen Smith in matters like that. The utmost advance he had made in such demonstrations had been the degree witnessed by Stephen in the summer house, so Elfride's cheek, being still forbidden through to him, he said impulsively. "'Elfie, I should like to touch that seductive ear of yours. Those are my gifts, so let me dress you in them.' She hesitated with a stimulating hesitation. "'Let me put just one in its place, then.' Her face grew much warmer. "'I don't think it would be quite the usual or proper course,' she said, suddenly turning and resuming her operation of plashing in the miniature cataract. The stillness of things was disturbed by a bird coming to the streamlet to drink. After watching him dip his bail, sprinkle himself and fly into a tree, Knight replied, with the courteous breastness she so much liked to hear. "'Elfride, now you may as well be fair. You would mind my doing it but little, I think, so give me leave, do.' "'I will be fair, then,' she said confidingly and looking him full in the face. It was a particular pleasure to her to be able to do a little honesty without fear. "'I should not mind you doing so. I should like such attention. My thought was, would it be right to let you?' "'Then I will,' he rejoined, with that singular earnestness about a small matter, in the eyes of a lady's man but a momentary peg for flirtation or jest, which is only found in deep natures who have been wholly unused to toying with womankind, and which, from its unwantedness, is in itself a tribute of the most precious that can be rendered, and homage the most exquisite to be received. "'And you shall,' she whispered, without reserve, and no longer mistress of the ceremonies. Then Elfride inclined herself towards him, thrust back her hair, and poised her head sideways. In doing this, her arm and shoulder necessarily rested against his breast. At the touch the sensation of both seemed to be concentrated at the point of contact. All the time he was performing the delicate maneuver, Knight trembled like a young surgeon in his first operation. "'Now the other one,' said Knight, in a whisper. "'No, no. Why not? I don't know exactly. You must know. Your touch agitates me so. Let us go home.' "'Don't say that, Elfride. What is it, after all, mere nothing? Now turn around, dearest.' She was powerless to disobey, and turned forthwith, and then, without any defiant intention in either's mind, his face and hers drew closer together, and he supported her there, and kissed her. Knight was at once the most ardent and the coolest man alive. When his emotions slumbered he appeared almost phlegmatic. When they were moved he was no less than passionate, and now, without having quite intended an early marriage, he put the question plainly. It came with all the ardour which was the accumulation of long years behind a natural reserve. "'Elfride, when shall we be married?' The words were sweeter, but there was a bitter in the sweet. These newly-overed acts of his, which had culminated in this plain question, coming on the very day of Mrs. Jetway's blasting reproaches, painted distinctly her fickleness as an enormity. Loving him in secret had not seemed such turriguing inconstancy as the same love recognized and acted upon in the face of threats. Her distraction was interpreted by him at her side as the outward signs of an unwanted experience. "'I don't press you for an answer now, darling,' he said, seeing she was not likely to give a lucid reply. Take your time.' Knight was as honourable a man as was ever loved and beluded by a woman. It may be said that his blindness in love proved a point, for shrewdness in love usually goes with meanness in general. Once the passion had mastered him the intellect had gone for naught. Knight, as a lover, was more single-minded and far simpler than his friend Stephen, who in other capacities was shallow beside him. Without saying more on the subject of their marriage, Knight held her at arms-length as if she had been a large bouquet, and looked at her with critical affection. "'Does your pity-gift become me?' she inquired, with tears of excitement on the fringes of her eyes. "'Nondoubtedly. Perfectly,' said her lover, adopting a lighter tone to put her at her ease. "'Ah, you should see them. You look shinier than ever. Fancy that I have been able to improve you.' "'Am I really so nice? I am glad for your sake. I wish I could see myself.' "'You can't. You must wait till we get home.' "'I should never be able,' she said, laughing. "'Look, here's a way.' "'So there is. Well done, woman's wit.' "'Hold me steady.' "'Oh, yes. And don't let me fall, will you?' "'By no means.' "'Below their seat, the thread of water paused to spread out into a smooth, small pool. Night supported her while she knelt down and leant over it. "'I can see myself.' "'Really. Try as religiously as I will. I cannot help admiring my appearance in them.' "'Doubtless. How can you be so fond of finery? I believe you are corrupting me into a taste for it. I used to hate every such thing before I knew you.' "'I like ornaments, because I want people to admire what you possess, and envy you, and say, I wish I was he.' "'I suppose I ought not object after that.' "'And how much longer are you going to look at yourself there?' "'Until you are tired of holding me.' "'Oh, I want to ask you something.' "'And she turned round. "'Now, tell truly, won't you, what colour of hair do you like best now?' "'Night did not answer at the moment.' "'Say light, do,' she whispered coaxingly. "'Don't say dark, as you did that time.' "'Like brown, then, exactly the colour of my sweethearts.' "'Really,' said Elfride, enjoying as truth what she knew to be flattery.' "'Yes.' "'And blue eyes, too, not hazel. Say yes, say yes.' "'One recantation is enough for today.' "'No, no.' "'Very well, blue eyes.' "'And night laughed, and drew her close, and kissed her a second time, which operations he performed with the carefulness of a fruter, touching a bunch of grapes, so as not to disturb their bloom.' Elfride objected to a second, and flung her face away. The movement causing a slight disarrangement of hat and hair. Hardly thinking what she said in the trepidation of the moment, she exclaimed, clapping her hand to her ear. "'Ah, we must be careful. I lost the other earring doing like this.' "'No sooner did she realise the significant words than a troubled look passed across her face, and she shut her lips as if to keep them back.' "'And doing like what?' said Knight, perplexed. "'Oh, sitting down out of doors,' she replied hastily.' "'End of Chapter Twenty-Eight.' "'A pair of blue eyes, Chapter Twenty-Nine.' "'This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Tye Hines.' "'A pair of blue eyes, by Thomas Hardy, Chapter Twenty-Nine.' "'Care, thou canker.' "'It is an evening at the beginning of October, and the mellowest of autumn sunsets irradiates London even to its uttermost eastern end. Between the eye and the flaming west, columns of smoke stand up in the still air like tall trees. Everything in the shade is rich and misty blue. Mr. and Mrs. Swancourt and Elfride are looking at these lustrous, lurid contrasts from the window of a large hotel near London Bridge. The visit to their friends at St. Leonard's is over, and they are staying a day or two in a metropolis on their way home. Knight spent the same interval of time in crossing over to Brittany by the way of Jersey and San Malo. He then passed through Normandy and returned to London also, his arrival there having been two days later than that of Elfride and her parents. So the evening of this October day saw them all meeting in the above mentioned hotel, where they had previously engaged apartments. During the afternoon Knight had been to his lodgings at Richmond to make a little change in the nature of his baggage. And on coming up again there was never ushered by a bland waiter into a comfortable room, a happier man than Knight, when shown to where Elfride and her stepmother were sitting, after a fatiguing day of shopping. Elfride looked none the better for her change, Knight was as brown as a nut. They were soon engaged by themselves in the corner of the room. Now that a precious words of promise had been spoken, the young girl had no idea of keeping up her price by the system of reserve which other more accomplished maidens use. Her lover was with her again, and it was enough. She made her heart over to him entirely. Dinner was soon dispatched, and when a preliminary round of conversation concerning their doing since the last parting had been concluded, they reverted to the subject of tomorrow's journey home. That enervating ride through the myrtle climate of South Devon, how I dread it tomorrow, Mrs. Swancourt was saying, I had hoped the weather would have been cooler by this time. Did you ever go by water, said Knight? Never, by never, I mean, not since the time of railways. Then, if you can afford an additional day, I propose that we do it, said Knight. The channel is like a lake just now. We should reach Plymouth in about forty hours, I think, and the boat starts from just below the bridge here, pointing over his shoulder eastward. Here, here, said the vicar. It is an idea, certainly, said his wife. Of course, these coasters are rather tubby, said Knight, but you wouldn't mind that. No, we wouldn't mind. And the saloon is a place like the fish market of a ninth-rate country town, but that wouldn't matter. Oh, dear no, if we had only thought of it soon enough, we might have had the use of Lord Luxellian's yacht, but never mind, we'll go. We shall escape the worrying rattle through the whole length of London tomorrow morning, not to mention the risk of being killed by excursion trains, which is not a little one at this time of the year, if the papers are true. Alfreda, too, taught the arrangement delightful, and accordingly, ten o'clock the following morning, saw two cabs crawling around by the mint, and between the preter-naturally high walls of Nightingale Lane towards the Riverside. The first vehicle was occupied by the travellers in person, and the second brought up the luggage, under the supervision of Mrs. Snuson, Mrs. Woncourt's maid, and for the last fortnight Alfreda's also, for although the younger lady had never been accustomed to any such attendant at roving times, her stepmother forced her into a semblance of familiarity with one when they were away from home. Presently wagons, bales, and smells of all descriptions increased to such an extent that the advance of the cabs was at the slowest possible rate. At intervals it was necessary to halt entirely, that the heavy vehicles unloading in front might be moved aside, a feat which was not accomplished without a great deal of swearing and noise. The vicar put his head out of the window. Surely there must be some mistake in the way, he said, with great concern, drawing his head in again. There is not a respectable conveyance to be seen here except ours. I have heard that there are strange dens in this part of London into which people have been entrapped and murdered. Surely there is no conspiracy on the part of the cabman. Oh no, no, it's all right, said Mr Knight, who was as placid as Dewy Eve by the side of Alfreda. But what I argue from, said the vicar, with a greater emphasis on uneasiness, are plain appearances. This can't be the highway from London to Plymouth by water, because there is no way at all to any place. We shall miss our steamer and our train too, that's what I think. Depend upon it we are right, and in fact here we are. General Dwarf, said the cabman, opening the door. No sooner have they alighted than they perceived a tussle, going on between the high and most cabman and a crowd of light porters, who had charged them in collume, to obtain possession of the bags and boxes, Mrs Snuson's hands being seen stretched towards heaven in the midst of the may. Night advanced gallantly, and after a hard struggle reduced the crowd to two. Upon whose shoulders and trucks the goods vanished away, in the direction of the water's edge, with startling rapidity. Then more of the tribe who had run on ahead were heard shouting to boatmen, three of whom pulled alongside, and two being vanquished, the luggage went tumbling into the remaining one. Never saw such a dreadful scene in my life! Never, said Mr Swancourt, floundering into the boat, worse than famine and sword upon one. I thought such customs were confined to continental ports. Aren't you astonished, Alfreda? Oh, no, said Alfreda, appearing amid the dingy scene, like a rainbow in a murky sky. It is a pleasant novelty, I think. Where in the wild ocean is our steamer? the vicar inquired. I can see nothing but old hulks for the life of me. Just behind that one, said Night, we shall soon be around under her. The object of their search was soon after this close to view, a great, lumbering form of inky blackness, which looked as if it had never known the touch of a paintbrush for fifty years. It was lying beside just such another, and the way on board was down a narrow lane of water between the two, about a yard and a half wide at one end, and gradually converging to a point. At the moment of their entry into this narrow passage, a brilliantly painted rival paddled down the river like a trotting steed, creating such a series of waves and splashes, that their frail query was tossed like a teacup, and the vicar and his wife slanted this way and that, inclining their heads into contact with a punch and judy air and countenance, the wavelets striking the sides of the two hulls and flapping back into their laps. Redful, ah, horrible. Mr. Swancourt murmured privately, and said aloud, I thought we walked on board. I don't think really I should have come if I had known this trouble was attached to it. If they must splash, I wish they would splash as with clean water, said the old lady, wiping her dress with her handkerchief. Now, I hope it is perfectly safe, continued the vicar. Oh, papa, you were not very brave, cried Elfride de Merrily. Bravery is only obstuousness to the perception of contingencies, Mr. Swancourt severely answered. Mrs. Swancourt laughed, and Elfride laughed, and Knight laughed, in the midst of which, pleasantness, a man shouted to them from some position between their heads and the sky, and they found that they were close to the Juliet, into which they quiveringly ascended. It having been found that the loneliness of the tide would prevent their getting off for an hour, the Swancourt, having nothing else to do, allowed their eyes to idle upon men in blue jerseys performing mysterious mending operations with tar twine. They turned to look at the dashes of lured sunlight, like burnished copper stars afloat on the ripples, which danced into and tantalised their vision, or listened to the loud music of a steam crane at work close by, or to sighing sounds from the funnels of passing steamers, getting dead as they grew more distant, or to shouts from the decks of different craft and their vicinity, all of them assuming the form of, Half past ten, not yet off, Mr. Swancourt breathed the breath of weariness and looked at his fellow travellers in general. Their faces were certainly not worth looking at. The expression waiting was written upon them so absolutely that nothing more could be discerned there. All animation was suspended till Providence should raise the water and let them go. I have been thinking, said Knight, that we have come amongst the rarest class of people in the kingdom. Of all human characteristics a low opinion of the value of his own time by an individual must be among the strangest to find. Here we see numbers of that patient and happy species, rovers as distinct from travellers. But they are pleasure seekers to whom times of no importance. Oh no, the pleasure seekers we meet on the ground routes are more anxious than commercial travellers to rush on, and added to the loss of time in getting to their journey's end, these exceptional people take their chances of seasickness by coming this way. Can it be, inquired the vicar with apprehension? Surely not, Mr Knight, just here in our English Channel, close at our doors as I may say. Entrance passages are very draughty places and the channel is like the rest. It ruins the temper of sailors. It has been calculated by philosophers that more dams go up to heaven from the channel in the course of a year than from all the five oceans put together. They really start now and the dead looks of all the throng come to life immediately, the man who had been frantically hauling the rope that bade fair to have no end ceases his labours and they glide down the serpentine bends of the Thames. Anything anywhere was a mine of interest to Elfride, and so was this. It is well enough now, said Mrs Swancourt after they passed the gnor, but I can't say I have cared for my voyage hitherto. For being now, in the open sea, a slight breeze had sprung up, which cheered her, as well as her two younger companions. But unfortunately it had reverse effect upon the vicar, who, after turning a sort of apricot jam colour, interspersed with dashes of raspberry, pleaded in disposition and vanished from their sight. The afternoon wore on. Mrs Swancourt kindly sat apart by herself reading, and a betrothed pair were left to themselves. Elfride clung trustingly to Night's arm, and proud was she to walk with him up and down the deck, or to go forward, and leaning with him against the four castle rails, watched the settling sun gradually withdrawing itself over the stern into a huge bank of livid cloud, with golden edges that rose to meet it. She was childishly full of life and spirits, though, in walking up and down with him before the other passengers, and getting noticed by them, she was at starting rather confused, it being the first time she had shown herself so openly under that kind of protection. I expect they are envious in saying things about us, don't you? She would whisper to Night with a stealthy smile. Though, though, he would answer unconcernedly, why should they envious, and what can they say? Not any harm, of course, Elfride replied, except such as this. How happy those two are. She is proud enough now. What makes it worse, she continued with the extremity of confidence. I heard those two cricketing men say just now, she's the nobbiest girl on the boat, but I don't mind it, you know, Harry. Now you should hardly have supposed you did, even if you had not told me, said Night with great blandness. She was never tired of asking her lover questions and admiring his answers, good, bad or indifferent as they might be. The evening grew dark and Night came on, and Light shone upon them from the horizon and from the sky. Now, look ahead of us, at that halo in the air of silvery brightness. Watch it, and you will see what it comes to. She watched for a few minutes when two white lights emerged from the side of a hill and show themselves to be the origin of the halo. What a dazzling brilliance! What do they mark? The South Forland, they were previously covered by the cliff. What is that level line of little sparkles, a town, I suppose? That's Dover. All this time and later soft sheet lightning expanded from a cloud in their path and kindling their faces as they paced up and down, shining over the water and, for a moment, showing the horizon as a keen lion. Elfride slept soundly that night. Her first thought the next morning was a thrilling one, that Night was as close to the hand as when they were at home in Endelstow, and her first sight, and looking out of the cabin window, was the perpendicular face of beachy head, gleaming white in a brilliant six o'clock in the morning sun. This fair daybreak, however, soon changed its aspect. The cold wind and a pale mist descended upon the sea, and seemed to threaten a dreary day. When they were nearing Southampton, Mrs. Swancourt came to say that her husband was so ill that he wished to be put on shore here, and left to do the remainder of the journey by land. He would be perfectly well directly he treads firm ground again. Which shall we do? Go with him, or finish our voyage as we intended. Elfride was comfortably housed under an umbrella, which Night was holding over to keep off the wind. Oh, don't let us go on shore, she said with dismay. It would be such a pity. That's very fine, said Mrs. Swancourt archery, as to a child. See, the wind has increased her colour, the sea, her appetite and spirits, and somebody her happiness. Yes, it would be a pity, certainly. It is my misfortune to be always spoken to from a pedestal, said Elfride. Well, we will do as you like, Mrs. Swancourt, said Night, but I myself would rather remain on board, interrupt to the elder lady, and Mrs. Swancourt particularly wishes to go by himself, so that she'll settle the matter. The vicar, now a drab colour, was put ashore, and became as well as ever forthwith. Elfride, sitting alone in a retired part of the vessel, saw a veiled woman walk aboard among the very latest arrivals at this port. She was clothed in black silk, and carried a dark shawl upon her arm. The woman, without looking round, turned to the quarter allotted to the second cabin passengers. All the carnation Mrs. Swancourt had complimented her stepdaughter upon possessing, left Elfride's cheeks, and she trembled visibly. She ran to the other side of the boat, where Mrs. Swancourt was standing. Let us go home by railway with papa after all, she pleaded earnestly. I would rather go with him, shall we? Mrs. Swancourt looked round for a moment, as if unable to decide. Ah! she exclaimed. It is too late now. Why did you not say so before, when we had plenty of time? The Juliet had that minute let go, the engines had started, and they were gliding slowly away from the key. There was no help for it but to remain, unless the Juliet could be made to put back, and that would create a great disturbance. Elfride gave up the idea and submitted quietly. Her happiness was sadly mutilated now. The woman whose presence had so disturbed her was exactly like Mrs. Jethway. She seemed to haunt Elfride like a shadow. After several minutes' vain endeavour to account for any design Mrs. Jethway could have in watching her, Elfride decided to tink that, if it were the widow, the encounter was accidental. She remembered that the widow, in her restlessness, was often visiting the village near Southampton, which was her original home, and it was possible that she chose water transit with the idea of saving expense. What is the matter, Elfride? Knight inquired, standing before her. Nothing more than that I am rather depressed. I don't much wonder at it, that wharf was depressing. We seemed underneath and inferior to everything around us, but we shall be in the sea breeze again soon, and that was fresh and new there. The evening closed in, and dusk increased as they made their way down Southampton water, and through the solent. Elfride's disturbance of mind was such that her light spirit of the foregoing four and twenty hours had entirely deserted her. The weather too had grown more gloomy. For though the showers of the morning had ceased, the sky was covered more closely than ever with dense, leaden cloud. How beautiful was the sunset when they had rounded the North Forland the previous evening. Now it was impossible to tell within half an hour the time of the luminaries going down. Night-letter about, and being by this time accustomed to her sudden changes of mood, overlooked the necessity of a cause in regarding the conditions. Impressionableness and elasticity. Elfride looked stealthily to the other end of the vessel. Mrs. Jethway, or her double, was sitting at the stern, her eyes steadily regarding Elfride. Let us go to the fore-part, she said quickly to-night. See there the man is fixing the lights for the night. Night assented, and after watching the operation of fixing the red and the green lights and the port and starboard bowels, and the hoisting of the white light to the mast-head, he walked up and down with her till the increase of wind rendered promenading difficult. Elfride's eyes were occasionally to be found furtively gazing abaft to learn if her enemy were really there. Nobody was visible now. Shall we go below? said Night, seeing that the deck was nearly deserted. No, she said. If you will kindly get me a rug for Mrs. Swancourt, I should like if you don't mind to stay here. She had recently fancied the assumed Mrs. Jethway might be a first-class passenger and led it meeting her by accident. Night appeared with the rug, and they sat down behind a weather-cloth on the windward side, just as the two red eyes of the needles glared upon them from the gloom that pointed summits rising like shadowy phantom figures against the sky. It became necessary to go below to an eight o'clock meal of nondescript kind, and Elfride was immensely relieved at finding no sign of Mrs. Jethway there. They again ascended and remained above till Mrs. Snuson staggered up to them with a message that Mrs. Swancourt thought it was time for Elfride to come below. Night accompanied her down and returned again to pass a little more time on deck. Elfride partly undressed herself and lay down, and soon became unconscious, though her sleep was light. How long she had lain she knew not. When, by slow degrees, she became cognizant of a whispering in her ear. You are well on with them, I can see. Well, provoke me now. My day will come, you will find. That seemed to be the utterance or words to that effect. Elfride became broad awake and terrified. She knew the words, if real, could only be those of one person, and that person, the widow Jethway. The lamp had gone out on the places in darkness. In the next birth she could hear her stepmother breathing heavily. Further on Snuson breathing more heavily still. These were the only other legitimate occupants of the cabin, and Mrs. Jethway must have stealthily come in by some means and retreated again, or else she had entered an empty birth next Snuson's. The fear that this was the case increased Elfride's perturbation, till it assumed the dimensions of a certainty. For how could a stranger, from the other end of the ship, possibly contrived to get in? Could it have been a dream? Elfride raised herself higher and looked out of the window. There was the sea, floundering and rushing against the ship's side, just by her head, and then stretching away, dim and moaning, into an expanse of indistinctness, and far beyond all this, two placid lights, like rayless stars. Now almost fearing to turn her face inward again, lest Mrs. Jethway should appear at her elbow, Elfride meditated upon whether to call Snuson to keep her company. Four bells sounded, and she heard voices, which gave her a little courage. It was not worthwhile to call Snuson. At any rate Elfride could not stay there panting longer, at the risk of being again disturbed by that dreadful whispering. So, wrapping herself up hurriedly, she emerged into the passage, and by the aid of a faint light burning at the entrance to the saloon, found the foot of the stairs, and ascended to the deck. Drury the place was in the extreme. It seemed a new spot altogether, in contrast with its daytime self. She could see the glow-worm light from the binnacle, and the dim outline of the man at the wheel, also a form at the bows. Not another soul was apparent from stem to stern. Yes, there were two more, by the bulwarks. One proved to be her Harry, and the other the mate. She was glad indeed, and on drawing closer found there were holding a low, slow chat about nautical affairs. She ran up and slipped a hand through Knight's arm, partly for love and partly for stability. Elfie, not asleep, said Knight, after removing a few steps aside with her. No, I cannot sleep. May I stay here? It is so dismal down there, and I was afraid. Where are we now? Juice out of Portland Bill. Those are the lights a beam of us. Look!  Do you see a very small light that dips and rises to the right? That's a light ship on the dangerous shore called the Shambles, where many a good vessel has gone to pieces. Between it and ourselves is a race, a place where antagonistic currents meet and form whirlpools, a spot which is rough in the smoothest weather and terrific in a wind. That dark dreary horizon we just discern to the left is the West Bay, terminated landward by Chesil Beach. What time is it, Harry? Just past two. Are you going below? Oh, no, not tonight. I prefer pure air. She fancies he might be displeased with her for coming to him at this unearthly hour. I should like to stay here, too, if you will allow me, she said timidly. I want to ask you things.  I am twice as happy with you by my side. Yes, we will stay and watch the approach of day. So they again sought out the sheltered nook and sitting down wrapped themselves in the rug as before. What were you going to ask me, he inquired, as they undulated up and down? Oh, it was not much. Perhaps the thing I ought not ask, she said hesitatingly. Her sudden wish had been to discover at once whether he had ever been engaged to be married. If he had, she would make that aground for telling him a little of her conduct with Stephen. Mrs. Jethway's seeming words had so depressed the girl that she herself now painted her flight in the darkest colours and longed to ease her burdened mind by an instant confession. If Knight had ever been imprudent himself, he might, she hoped, forgive all. I wanted to ask you, she went on, if you had ever been engaged before, she added tremulously, I hope you have, I mean, I don't mind at all if you have. No, I never was, said Knight instantly and heartily replied, Elfride, and there was a certain happy pride in this town. I am twelve years older than you, and I have been about the world, and, in a way, into society, and you have not. And yet I am not so unfit for you, as a strict-thinking people might imagine, who would assume the difference of age to signify most surely an equal addition to my practice in love-making. Elfride shivered. You are cold, the wind is too much for you. No, she said gloomily. The belief which had been her sheet anchor in hoping for forgiveness had proved false. This account of the exceptional nature of his experience, a matter which would have set her rejoicing two years ago, chilled her now like a frost. You don't mind my asking you, she continued. Oh, no, not at all. And have you never kissed many ladies? She whispered, hoping he would say a hundred at least. The time, the circumstances, and the scene were such as to draw confidences from the most reserved. Elfride whispered night in reply. It is strange you should have asked that question, but I'll answer it, though I have never told such a thing before. I have been rather absurd in my avoidance of women.  The man of two and thirty, with the experienced mind, warmed all over with a boy's ingenuous shame as he made the confession. What? Not one, she faltered. No, not one. How very strange. Yes, the reverse experience may be commoner, and yet to those who have observed their own sex, as I have, my case is not remarkable. Men about town are women's favourites, that is postulate, and superficial people don't think far enough to see that there may be reserved, lonely exceptions.  No, indeed. Of late years I have wished I had gone my ways and trot out my measure like lighter-hearted men. I have thought of how many happy experiences I may have lost through never going to woo. And why did you hold aloof? I cannot say. I don't think it was my nature to. Circumstances hindered me perhaps. I have regretted it for another reason. This great remissness of mine has had its effect upon me. The older I have grown, the more distinctly I have perceived that it is absolutely preventing me from liking any woman who is not as unpractised as I. And I gave up the expectation of finding a 19th century young lady in my own raw state.  I felt at once that, differing as we did in our experiences, in this matter, I resembled you. Well, had you glad to hear it, Elfride? Yes, I am, she answered in a forth voice, but I always had thought that men made lots of engagement before they married, especially if they don't marry very young. So all women think, I suppose, and rightly indeed, of the majority of bachelors, as I said before, but an appreciable minority of slow-coach men do not, and it makes them very awkward when they do come to the point. However, it didn't matter in my case. Why, she asked uneasily. Because you know even less of love-making and matrimonial pre-arrangement than I, and so you can't draw invidious comparisons if I do my engaging improperly. I think you do it beautifully. Thank you, dear. But, continued night, laughingly, your opinion is not that of an expert, which alone is of value. Had she answered, yes, it is, half as strongly as she felt it, night might have been a little astonished. If you had ever been engaged to be married before, he went on, I expect your opinion of my addresses would be different, but then I should not— I should not what, Harry? Oh, I was merely going to say that in that case I should never have given myself the pleasure of proposing to you, since your freedom from that experience was your attraction, my darling.  No, I think not. I had a right to please my tastes, and that was for untried lips. Other men than those of my sort acquire the taste as they get older, but don't find an Elfride. What horrid sound does that be here when we pitch forward? Only the screw. Don't find an Elfride as I did.  And would you, she said, and her voice was tremulous, have given up a lady if you had become engaged to her, and then found that she had had one kiss before yours, and would you have gone away and left her? One kiss, no, hardly for that. Two? Well, I can hardly say inventorily like that.  But let us confine our attention to ourselves, not go thinking of might-have-beens. So Elfride had allowed her thoughts to dally with false surmise, and every one of night's words fell upon her like a weight. After this there were silent for a long time, gazing upon the black mysterious sea, and hearing the strange voice of the restless wind. A rocking toon flow on the waves, when the breeze is not too violent and cold, produces a soothing effect, even upon the most highly wrought mind. Elfride slowly sank against night, and looking down, he found by herself regular breathing that she had fallen asleep. Not wishing to disturb her, he continued still, and took an intense pleasure in supporting her warm, young form as it rose and fell with her every breath. Night fell to dreaming too, though he continued wide awake. It was pleasant to realise the implicit trust she placed in him, and to think of the charming innocence of one who could sink into sleep in so simple and unceremonious a manner. More than all the musing and practical student felt the immense responsibility he was taking upon himself by becoming the protector and guide of such a trusting creature. The quiet slumber of her soul lent a quietness to his own. Then she moaned and turned herself restlessly. Presently her motherings became distinct. Don't tell him, he will not love me. I did not mean any disgrace, indeed I did not. So don't tell Harry. We were going to be married, that's why I ran away. And he says he will not have a kissed woman. And if you tell him, he will go away, and I shall die. I pray have mercy. Oh! Elfride started up wildly. The previous moment a musical ding-dong had spread into the air from their right hand and awakened her. What is that? she exclaimed in terror. Only eight bells, said Knight soothingly.  What have you been dreaming about? I can't tell, I can't tell, she said with a shudder. Oh! I don't know what to do. Stay quietly with me. We shall soon see the dawn now. Look, the morning star is lovely over there. The clouds have completely cleared off whilst you have been sleeping. What have you been dreaming of? A woman in our parish. Don't you like her? I don't, and she doesn't like me. Where are we? About south of the X. Knight said no more on the words of her dream. They watched the sky till Elfride grew calm, and the dawn appeared. It was mere one lightness first. Then the wind blew in a changed spirit and died away to a zephyr. The star dissolved into the day. That is how I should like to die, said Elfride, rising from her seat and leaning over the bullock to watch the star's last expiring gleam. As the lion say, Knight replied, To set as sets the morning star, which goes not down behind the dark and west, nor hides obscured among the tempests of the sky, but melts away into the light of heaven. Oh, other people have taught the same thing, haven't they? That's always the case with my originalities. They are original to nobody but myself. Not only the case with yours. When I was a young hand at reviewing, I used to find out a frightful pitfall. Dilating on subjects I met with, which were novelties to me, and finding afterwards they had been exhausted by the thinking world when I was in pinniforce. That is delightful. Whenever I find you have done a foolish thing, I am glad, because it seems to bring you a little nearer to me, who have done many. And Elfride thought again of her enemy asleep under the deck they trod. All up the coast, prominences single themselves out from recesses. Then a rosy sky spread over the eastern sea and behind the low line of land, flinging its livery and dashes upon the thin airy clouds in that direction. Every projection on the land seemed now so many fingers anxious to catch a little of the liquid light thrown so prodigly over the sky. And after a fantastic time of blusterous yellows in the east, the higher elevations along the shore were flooded with the same hues. The bluff and bare contours of start point caught the brightest, earliest glow of all, and so also the sides of its white lighthouse, perched upon a shelf in its precipitous front like a medieval saint in a niche. Their lofty neighbor, bolt-head, on the left remained as yet ungilded, and retained its gray. Then up came the sun, as it were, and jerks, just to seaward of the eastern most point of land, flinging out in Jacob's ladder path of light from itself to Elfride at night, and coating them with rays in a few minutes. The inferior dignitaries of the shore, forward point, bury-head, and prowl, had all acquired their share of the illumination ere this, and at length the very smallest perturbances of wave, cliff, or linn net, even to the innermost recesses of the lovely valley of the dart, had its portion, and sunlight, now the common possession of all, ceased to be the wonderful and coveted thing it had been a short half hour before. After breakfast, Pymith arose into view, and grew distincter to their nearing vision, to break water appearing like a streak of phosphoric light upon the surface of the sea. Elfride looked furtively around for Mrs. Jethway, but could discern no shape like hers. Afterwards, in the bustle of landing, she looked again with the same result, by which time the woman had probably glided upon the key unobserved. Expanding with a sense of relief, Elfride waited whilst night looked to their luggage, and then saw her father approaching through the crowd, twirling his walking stick to catch their attention. Elbowing the way to him, they all entered a town, which smiled a sunniest smile upon Elfride, as it had done between one and two years earlier, when she had entered it at precisely the same hour, as the bride-elect of Stephen Smith. End of Chapter 29 A pair of blue eyes, Chapter 30 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Tyge Hines A pair of blue eyes, by Thomas Hardy, Chapter 30 Vassal unto Love Elfride clung closer to night as day succeeded day. Whatever else might admit of question, there could be no dispute that the allegiance she bore him absorbed her whole soul and existence. A greater than Stephen had arisen, and she had left all to follow him. The unreserved girl was never charry of letting her lover discover how much she admired him. She never once held an idea in opposition to any one of his, or insisted on any point with him, or showed any independence, or held her own on any subject. His light of swim she respected and obeyed as law, and if, expressing her opinion on a matter, he took up the subject and differed from her, she instantly threw down her own opinion as wrong and untenable. Even her ambiguities and espillerie were but media of the same manifestation, acted charades embodying the words of her prototype, the tender and susceptible daughter-in-law of Naomi. Let me find favour in thy sight, my lord, for that thou hast comforted me, and for that thou hast spoken friendly unto thine handmaid. She was syringing the plants one wet day in the greenhouse. Night was sitting under a great passion-flower observing the scene. Sometimes he looked out at the rain from the sky, and then at her freedest inner rain of larger drops, which fell from trees and shrubs after having previously hung from the twigs like small silver fruit. I must give you something to make you think of me during this autumn at your chambers, she was saying. What shall it be?  Something which shall bring back my mind to the many scenes we have enacted in this conservatory. I see what I should prize very much, that dwarf myrtle-tree in the pot, which you have been so carefully tending. A freedel looked thoughtfully at the myrtle. I can carry it comfortably in my hat-box, said Knight, and I will put it in my window, and so it always being before my eyes I shall think of you continually. It so happened that the myrtle which Knight had singled out had a peculiar beginning and history. It had originally been a twig worn in Stephen Smith's buttonhole, and he had taken it thence, stuck it into the pot, and told her that if it grew she was to take care of it, and keep it in remembrance of him when he was far away. She looked wistfully at the plant, and a sense of fairness to Smith's memory caused her a pang of regret that Knight should have asked for that very one. It seemed exceeding a common heartlessness to let it go. Is there not anything you like better? she said sadly. It is only an ordinary myrtle. No, I am fond of myrtle. Seeing that she did not take kindly to the idea, he said again, why do you object to me having that? Oh, no, I don't object precisely. It was a feeling. Ah, here's another cutting lately struck, and just a small, of a better kind, and with prettier leaves, myrtis, mycophilia. That will do nicely. Let it be put in my room that I may not forget it. What romance attaches to the other? It was a gift to me. The subject then dropped. Knight taught no more of the matter, till on entering his bedroom in the evening he found the second myrtle placed upon his dressing-table as he had directed. He stood for a moment admiring the fresh appearance of the leaves by candlelight, and then he thought of the transaction of the day. Male lovers as well as female can be spoiled by too much kindness, and, as freed as uniforms of misadmiss, had given Knight a rather exacting manner at crisis, attached to her as he was. Why should she have refused the first one I chose? he now asked himself. Even such a slight opposition as she had shown then was exceptional enough to make itself noticeable. He was not vexed with her in the least. The mere variation of her way to-day, from her usual ways, kept him musing on the subject, because it perplexed him. It was a gift. Those were her words. Admitting it to be a gift, he thought she could hardly value a mere friend more than she valued him as a lover, and giving the plant to his charge would have made no difference. Except, indeed, it was the gift of a lover, he murmured. I wonder if Elfride has ever had a lover before. He said aloud, as a new idea, quite. This and companion thoughts were enough to occupy him completely till he fell asleep, rather later than usual. The next day, when they were again alone, he said to her rather suddenly, Do you love me more or less, Elfride, for what I told you on board the steamer? You told me so many things. She returned, lifting her eyes to his and smiling. I mean the confession you coaxed out of me, that I had never been in the position of a lover before. It is a satisfaction, I suppose, to be the first in your heart, she said to him with an attempt to continue her smiling. I am going to ask you a question, how, said Knight, somewhat awkwardly. I only ask it in a whimsical way, you know, not with great seriousness, Elfride. You may think it odd, perhaps. Elfride tried desperately to keep the colour in her face. She could not, though distressed to think that getting pale showed consciousness of deeper guilt than merely getting red. Oh, no, I shall not think that, she said, because it's obliged to say something to fill the pause which followed her question in his remark. It is this, have you ever had a lover? I am almost sure you have not, but have you? Not as it were a lover, I mean, not worth mentioning, Harry, she faulted. Knight, overstrained in sentiment, as he knew of feeling to be, felt some sickness of heart. Still, he was a lover. Well, a sort of lover, I suppose, she responded tardily.  Yes, but a mere person, and—but truly a lover. Yes, a lover, certainly, he was that. Yes, he might have been called my lover. Knight said nothing to this for a minute or more, and kept silent time with his finger to the tick of the old library-clock, in which room the colloquy was going on. You don't mind, Harry, do you, she said anxiously, nestling close to him and watching his face? Of course, I don't seriously mind. In reason, a man cannot object to such a trifle. I only thought you hadn't. That was all. However, one way was abstracted from the glory about her head. But afterwards, when Knight was wandering by himself over the bare and breezy hills, and meditating on the subject, that ray suddenly returned. For she might have had a lover, and never have cared in the least for him. She might have used the word improperly, and meant admire her all the time. Of course, she had been admired, and one man might have made his admiration more prominent than that of the rest, in a very natural case. They were sitting on one of the garden-seats, when he found occasion to put the supposition to the test. Did you love that lover or admirer of yours, ever so little, Elfie? She murmured reluctantly. Yes, I think I did. Knight felt the same faint touch of misery. Only a very little, he said. I am not sure how much. But you are sure, darling, you love them a little. I think I am sure I love them a little. And not a great deal, Elfie. My love was not supported by reverence for his powers. But, Elfride, did you love them deeply? said Knight restlessly. I don't exactly know how deep you mean by deeply. That's nonsense.   Harry, don't be severe with me, and don't question me. I did not love them, as I do you. And could it be deeply, if I did not think him cleverer than myself? For I did not. You grieve me so much, you can't think. I would not say another word about it. And you will not think about it, either, will you? I know you think of weaknesses in me after I am out of your sight, and not knowing what they are I cannot combat them. I almost wish you were of grosser nature, Harry. I do in truth. Or rather, I wish I could have the advantages, such a nature in you would afford me, and yet have you as you are. What advantages would they be? Less anxiety, and more security. Ordinary men are not so delicate, in their tastes as you, and where the lover or husband is not fastidious and refined, and of deep nature, things seem to go on better, I fancy, as far as I have been able to observe in the world. Yes, I suppose it is right. Shallowness has this advantage, that you can't be drowned there. But I think I'll have you as you are. Yes, I will, she said, winsomely. The practical husbands and wives who take things philosophically are very humdrum, are they not? Yes, it would kill me quite. You please me best as you are. Even though I wish you had never cared for one before me. Yes, and you must not wish it, don't. I'll try not to, Elfride. So she hoped, but her heart was troubled. If he felt so deeply on this point, what would he say, did he know all, and see it as Mrs. Jethway saw it? He would never make her the happiest girl in the world, but taking her to be his own for I. The thought enclosed her as a tomb, whenever it presented itself to her perturbed brain. She tried to believe that Mrs. Jethway would never do her such a cruel wrong as to increase the bad appearance of her folly by innuendos, and concluded that concealment, having been begun, must be persisted in if possible. For what he might consider as bad as the fact was her previous concealment of it by strategy. But Elfride knew Mrs. Jethway to be her enemy, and to hate her. It was possible she would do her worst, and should she do it, all might be over. Would a woman listen to reason, and be persuaded not to ruin one who had never intentionally harmed her? It was night in the valley between endlestow crags and the shore. The brook which trickled that way to the sea, was distinct in its murmurs now, and over the line of its course there began to hang a white ribboned of fog. Against the sky, on the left hand of the veil, the black form of the church could be seen. On the other rose hazel bushes as a few trees, and where these were absent, furs tufts, as tall as men, on stems nearly as stout as timber. The shriek of some bird was occasionally aherd as it flew terror-strickened from its first roost to seek a new sleeping place where it might pass the night on molested. In the evening shade, some way down the valley, and under a row of scrubby oaks, a cottage could still be discerned. It stood absolutely alone. The house was rather large, and the windows of some of the rooms were nailed up with boards on the outside, which gave a particularly deserted appearance to the whole erection. From the front door, and a regular series of rough and misshapen steps cut in the solid rock, led down to the edge of the streamlet which, at their extremity, was hollowed into a basin through which the water trickled. This was evidently the means of water supplied to the dweller or dwellers in this cottage. A light footstep was her descending from the higher slopes of the hillside. Indistinct in the pathway appeared a moving female shape who advanced and knocked timidly at the door. No answer being returned, the knock was repeated with the same result, and it was then repeated a third time. This was also unsuccessful. From one of the only two windows on the ground floor which were not boarded up came rays of light. No shutter or curtain obscuring the room from the eyes of a passer-by on the outside. So few walked that way after nightfall that any such means to secure secrecy were probably deemed unnecessary. The inequality of the rays falling upon the trees outside told that the light had its origin from a flickering fire only. The visitor, after the third knocking, stepped a little to the left in order to gain a view of the interior and threw back the hood from her face. The dancing yellow sheen revealed the fair and anxious countenance of Elfride. Inside the house this firelight was enough to illuminate the room distinctly and to show that the furniture of the cottage was superior to what might have been expected from so unpromising an exterior. It also showed to Elfride that the room was empty. Beyond the light quiver and flap of the flames nothing moved or was audible therein. She turned the handle and entered, throwing off the cloak which enveloped her under which she appeared without hat or bonnet, and in the sort of half-toilet country people ordinarily dine in. Then, advancing to the foot of the staircase, she called distinctly, but somewhat fearfully, Mrs. Jethway? No answer. With a look of relief and regret combined, denoting that ease came to the heart and disappointment to the brain, Elfride paused for several minutes, as if undecided how to act. Determining to wait, she sat down on the chair. The minutes drew on, and after sitting on the thorns of impatience for half an hour, she searched her pocket, took therefrom a letter and tore off the blank leaf. Then, taking out a pencil, she wrote upon the paper. Dear Mrs. Jethway, I have been to visit you. I wanted much to see you, but I cannot wait any longer. I came to beg you not to execute the threats you have repeated to me. Do not, I beseech you, Mrs. Jethway, let any one know I ran away from home. It would ruin me with him, and break my heart. I will do anything for you, if you would be kind to me. In the name of our common womanhood, do not, I implore you, make a scandal of me. Yours, ease, one court. She folded the note corner-wise, directed it, and placed it on the table. Then, again drawing the hood over her curly head, she emerged silently as she had come. Whilst this episode had been in action, at Mrs. Jethway's cottage, Knight had gone from the dining-room to the drawing-room, and found Mrs. Swann Court alone there. Elfride has vanished upstairs or somewhere, she said, and I have been reading an article in an old number of the present that I lighted upon by chance a short time ago. It is an article you once told us was yours. Well, Harry, with due deference to your literary powers, allow me to say that this effusion is all nonsense, in my opinion. What is it about, said Knight, taking up the paper and reading? There, don't get all bled about it. Oh, that experience has taught you to be more charitable. I have never read such inshivalous statements in my life. From a man, I mean. There, I forgive you, it was before you knew Elfride. Oh, yes, said Knight, looking up, I remember now. The text of that sermon was not my own at all, but was suggested to me by a young man named Smith, the same whom I have mentioned to you is coming from this parish. I thought the idea rather ingenious at the time, and enlarge it to the weight of a few guineas, because I had nothing else in my head. Which idea do you call the text? I am curious to know that. Well, this, said Knight, somewhat unwillingly, that experience teaches, and your sweetheart, no less than your tailor, is necessarily very imperfect in her duties. If you were her first patron, and conversely, the sweetheart who was graceful under the initial kiss, must be supposed to have had some practice in the trade. And do you mean to say that you wrote that upon the strength of another man's remark, without having tested it by practice? Yes, indeed I do. Then I think it was uncalled for, and unfair. And how do you know it is true? I expect you regret it now. Since you bring me into a serious mood, I will speak candidly. I do believe that remark to be perfectly true, and having written it, I will defend it anywhere. But I do often regret having ever written it, as well as others of the sort. I have grown older since, and I find such a tone of writing is calculated to do harm in the world. Every literary jack becomes a gentleman, if he can only pen a few indifferent satires upon woman-kind, women themselves too, have taken to the trick, and so upon the whole I begin to be rather ashamed of my companions. Ah, Henry, you have fallen in love since, and it makes a difference, said Mrs. Swancourt, with a faint tone of banter. That's true, but that is not my reason. Having found that, in a case of your own experience, a so-called goose was a swan, it seems absurd to deny such a possibility in other men's experiences. You can hit palpably, cousin Charlotte, said Knight.  Excuse me, ma'am, going for my evening stroll. Though Knight had spoken jestingly, this incident and conversation had caused him a sudden depression. Coming rather singularly, just after his discovery that Elfride had known what it was to love warmly before she had known him, his mind dwelt upon the subject, and the familiar pipe he smoked whilst pacing up and down the shrubbery path failed to be a solace. He thought again of those idle words, hitherto quite forgotten, about the first kiss of a girl, and the theory seemed more than reasonable. Of course, their sting now lay in their bearing on Elfride. Elfride, under Knight's kiss, had certainly been a very different woman from herself under Stephen's. Whether for good or ill, she had marvellously well learned a betrothed lady's part, and the fascinating finish of her deportment in this second campaign did probably arise from her unreserved encouragement of Stephen. Knight, with all the rapidity of jealous sensitiveness, pounced upon some words she had inadvertently let fall about a nearing, which he had only partially understood at the time. It was during that initial kiss by the waterfall. We must be careful, I lost the other by doing this. A flush, which had in it as much of wounded pride as of sorrow, passed overnight as he thought of what he had so frequently said to her in his simplicity. I always meant to be the first common in a woman's heart, fresh lips are none for me. How childishly blind he must have seemed to this mere girl, how she must have laughed at him inwardly. He absolutely writhed as he thought of the confession she had run from him on the boat in the darkness of night, the one conception which had sustained his dignity when drawn out of his shell on that occasion, that of her charming ignorance of all such matters, how absurd it was.  Moreover, several years of poetic study, and if the truth must be told, poetic efforts, had tended to develop the effective side of his constitution still further, in proportion to his active faculties. It was his belief in the absolute newness of blandishment to Elfride which had constituted a primary charm. He began to think it was as hard to be the earliest in a woman's heart as it was to be the first in the pool of Bethesda. That night should have been thus constituted, that Elfride's second lover should not have been one of the great mass of bustling mankind, little given to introspection, whose good nature might have compensated for any lack of appreciativeness, was the chance of things, that her throbbing, self-confounding, indiscreet heart should have to defend itself, unaided, against the keen scrutiny and logical power which Knight, now that his suspicions were awakened, would sooner or later be sure to exercise against her, was her misfortune. A miserable incongruity was apparent in the circumstance of a strong mind, practicing its unhearing archery upon a heart which the owner of that mind loved better than his own. Elfride's docile devotion to Knight was now its own enemy. Clinging to him so dependently, she taught him in time to presume upon that devotion, a lesson men are not slow to learn. A slight rebelliousness, occasionally, would have done him no harm, and would have been a world of advantage to her. But she idolized him, and was proud to be his bond servant.