across the landing. Her father's door was shut, and he
could be heard snoring regularly. The light came from Stephen's room,
and the slight sounds also coming thence emphatically denoted what he
was doing. In the perfect silence she could hear the closing of a lid
and the clicking of a lock,--he was fastening his hat-box. Then the
buckling of straps and the click of another key,--he was securing his
portmanteau. With trebled foreboding she opened her door softly, and
went towards his. One sensation pervaded her to distraction. Stephen,
her handsome youth and darling, was going away, and she might never see
him again except in secret and in sadness--perhaps never more. At any
rate, she could no longer wait till the morning to hear the result of
the interview, as she had intended. She flung her dressing-gown round
her, tapped lightly at his door, and whispered 'Stephen!' He came
instantly, opened the door, and stepped out.

'Tell me; are we to hope?'

He replied in a disturbed whisper, and a tear approached its outlet,
though none fell.

'I am not to think of such a preposterous thing--that's what he said.
And I am going to-morrow. I should have called you up to bid you
good-bye.'

'But he didn't say you were to go--O Stephen, he didn't say that?'

'No; not in words. But I cannot stay.'

'Oh, don't, don't go! Do come and let us talk. Let us come down to the
drawing-room for a few minutes; he will hear us here.'

She preceded him down the staircase with the taper light in her
hand, looking unnaturally tall and thin in the long dove-coloured
dressing-gown she wore. She did not stop to think of the propriety
or otherwise of this midnight interview under such circumstances. She
thought that the tragedy of her life was beginning, and, for the first
time almost, felt that her existence might have a grave side, the shade
of which enveloped and rendered invisible the delicate gradations of
custom and punctilio. Elfride softly opened the drawing-room door and
they both went in. When she had placed the candle on the table, he
enclosed her with his arms, dried her eyes with his handkerchief, and
kissed their lids.

'Stephen, it is over--happy love is over; and there is no more sunshine
now!'

'I will make a fortune, and come to you, and have you. Yes, I will!'

'Papa will never hear of it--never--never! You don't know him. I do.
He is either biassed in favour of a thing, or prejudiced against it.
Argument is powerless