osed for the night. There was no
light in the counting-house itself, but there were lamps in the long
narrow ware-room; and consequently the window was bright.

"A moment!" said Tackleton. "Can you bear to look through that window,
do you think?"

"Why not?" returned the Carrier.

"A moment more," said Tackleton. "Don't commit any violence. It's of no
use. It's dangerous too. You're a strong-made man; and you might do
murder before you know it."

The Carrier looked him in the face, and recoiled a step as if he had
been struck. In one stride he was at the window, and he saw----

Oh, Shadow on the Hearth! Oh, truthful Cricket! Oh, perfidious wife!

He saw her with the old man--old no longer, but erect and
gallant--bearing in his hand the false white hair that had won his way
into their desolate and miserable home. He saw her listening to him, as
he bent his head to whisper in her ear; and suffering him to clasp her
round the waist, as they moved slowly down the dim wooden gallery
towards the door by which they had entered it. He saw them stop, and saw
her turn--to have the face, the face he loved so, so presented to his
view!--and saw her, with her own hands, adjust the lie upon his head,
laughing, as she did it, at his unsuspicious nature!

He clenched his strong right hand at first, as if it would have beaten
down a lion. But, opening it immediately again, he spread it out before
the eyes of Tackleton (for he was tender of her even then), and so, as
they passed out, fell down upon a desk, and was as weak as any infant.

He was wrapped up to the chin, and busy with his horse and parcels, when
she came into the room, prepared for going home.

"Now, John dear! Good night, May! Good night, Bertha!"

Could she kiss them? Could she be blithe and cheerful in her parting?
Could she venture to reveal her face to them without a blush? Yes.
Tackleton observed her closely, and she did all this.

Tilly was hushing the baby, and she crossed and recrossed Tackleton a
dozen times, repeating drowsily:

"Did the knowledge that it was to be its wives, then, wring its hearts
almost to breaking; and did its fathers deceive it from its cradles but
to break its hearts at last!"

"Now, Tilly, give me the Baby! Good night, Mr. Tackleton. Where's John,
for goodness' sake?"

"He's going to walk beside the horse's head," said Tackleton; who helped
her to her seat.

"My dear John! Walk? To-night?"

The muffled figure of her husb