of knaves and wenches! Surely it is a small thing!
But men will face death smiling who run wry-faced from such ridicule. I
sank in my chair again. But in truth did I desire to go? The dead rise,
or at least there is a voice that speaks from the tomb. A man tarries to
listen. Well if he be not lost in listening!

With a sigh Nell moved across the room and flung the window open. The
loiterers were gone, all was still, only the stars looked in, only the
sweet scent of the night made a new companion.

"It's like a night at Hatchstead," she whispered. "Do you remember how
we walked there together? It smelt as it smells to-night. It's so long
ago!" She came quickly towards me and asked "Do you hate me now?" but
did not wait for the answer. She threw herself in a chair near me and
fixed her eyes on me. It was strange to see her face grave and wrung
with agitation; yet she was better thus, the new timidity became her
marvellously.

There was a great clock in the corner of the old panelled room; it
ticked solemnly, seeming to keep time with the beating of my heart. I
had no desire to move, but sat there waiting; yet every nerve of my body
was astir. Now I watched her every movement, took reckoning of every
feature, seemed to read more than her outward visage showed and to gain
knowledge of her heart. I knew that she tempted me, and why. I was not a
fool, to think that she loved me; but she was set to conquer me, and
with her there was no price that seemed high when the prize was victory
or a whim's fulfilment.

I would have written none of this, but that it is so part and marrow of
my history that without it the record of my life would go limping on one
leg.

She rose and came near me again. Now she laughed, yet still not lightly,
but as though she hid a graver mood.

"Come," said she, "you needn't fear to be civil to me. Mistress Barbara
is not here."

The taunt was well conceived; for the most part there is no incitement
that more whips a man to any madness than to lay self-control to the
score of cowardice, and tell him that his scruples are not his own, but
worn by command of another and on pain of her displeasure. But sometimes
woman's cunning goes astray, and a name, used in mockery, speaks for
itself with strong attraction, as though it held the charm of her it
stands for. The name, falling from Nell's pouting lips, had power to
raise in me a picture, and the picture spread, like a very painting done
on canvas, a