black cloak and slouched hat, appearing altogether as a
foreigner, and not as the young English burgess who had left her side.
When he came forward into the light of the lamp, she perceived with
surprise, and almost with fright, that he wore a mask. At first she had
not noticed this--there being nothing in its colour which would lead a
casual observer to think he was looking on anything but a real
countenance.

He must have seen her start of dismay at the unexpectedness of his
appearance, for he said hastily: 'I did not mean to come in to you like
this--I thought you would have been in bed. How good you are, dear
Barbara!' He put his arm round her, but he did not attempt to kiss her.

'O Edmond--it _is_ you?--it must be?' she said, with clasped hands, for
though his figure and movement were almost enough to prove it, and the
tones were not unlike the old tones, the enunciation was so altered as to
seem that of a stranger.

'I am covered like this to hide myself from the curious eyes of the inn-
servants and others,' he said, in a low voice. 'I will send back the
carriage and join you in a moment.'

'You are quite alone?'

'Quite. My companion stopped at Southampton.'

The wheels of the post-chaise rolled away as she entered the dining-room,
where the supper was spread; and presently he rejoined her there. He had
removed his cloak and hat, but the mask was still retained; and she could
now see that it was of special make, of some flexible material like silk,
coloured so as to represent flesh; it joined naturally to the front hair,
and was otherwise cleverly executed.

'Barbara--you look ill,' he said, removing his glove, and taking her
hand.

'Yes--I have been ill,' said she.

'Is this pretty little house ours?'

'O--yes.' She was hardly conscious of her words, for the hand he had
ungloved in order to take hers was contorted, and had one or two of its
fingers missing; while through the mask she discerned the twinkle of one
eye only.

'I would give anything to kiss you, dearest, now, at this moment!' he
continued, with mournful passionateness. 'But I cannot--in this guise.
The servants are abed, I suppose?'

'Yes,' said she. 'But I can call them? You will have some supper?'

He said he would have some, but that it was not necessary to call anybody
at that hour. Thereupon they approached the table, and sat down, facing
each other.

Despite Barbara's scared state of mind, it was forced upon her