cipated, she ran on
before me--made a sign to the deaf man, as she passed him, not to stop
her--and disappeared through the open door of her father's side of the
cottage.

I was left to decide for myself. What should I have done, if I had been
twenty years older?

Say that my moral courage would have risen superior to the poorest of all
fears, the fear of appearing to be afraid, and that I should have made my
excuses to my host of the evening--how would my moral courage have
answered him, if he had asked for an explanation? Useless to speculate on
it! Had I possessed the wisdom of middle life, his book of leaves would
not have told him, in my own handwriting, that I believed in his better
nature, and accepted his friendly letter in the spirit in which he had
written.

Explain it who can--I knew that I was going to drink tea with him, and
yet I was unwilling to advance a few steps, and meet him on the road!

"I find a new bond of union between us," he said, as he joined me. "We
both feel _that._" He pointed to the grandly darkening view. "The two men
who could have painted the mystery of those growing shadows and fading
lights, lie in the graves of Rembrandt and Turner. Shall we go to tea?"

On our way to his room we stopped at the miller's door.

"Will _you_ inquire," he said, "if Miss Cristel is ready?"

I went in. Old Toller was in the kitchen, smoking his pipe without
appearing to enjoy it.

"What's come to my girl?" he asked, the moment he saw me. "Yesterday she
was in her room, crying. To-day she's in her room, praying."

The warnings which I had neglected rose in judgment against me. I was
silent; I was awed. Before I recovered myself, Cristel entered the
kitchen. Her father whispered, "Look at her!"

Of the excitement which had disturbed--I had almost said, profaned--her
beautiful face, not a vestige remained. Pale, composed, resolute, she
said, "I am ready," and led the way out.

The man whom she hated offered his arm. She took it!

CHAPTER XIII

THE CLARET JUG

I perceived but one change in the Lodger's miserable room, since I had
seen it last.

A second table was set against one of the walls. Our boiling water for
the tea was kept there, in a silver kettle heated by a spirit-lamp. I
next observed a delicate little china vase which held the tea, and a
finely-designed glass claret jug, with a silver cover. Other men,
possessing that beautiful object, would have thought it worthy of the
pu