He is looking up here,
too. Run down, do'ee now; and if she'll be a good girl she shall
have the neatest household and the best husband in Kingcombe--always
excepting mine."

Agatha did not run down; but she leant over the landing, and heard the
footsteps and voices in the hall--steps and voices which always seem to
put new life into a house where its ruler is dear to the hearts of wife
and children. Troubled as she was--laden with even a new weight since
the talk with Mrs. Dugdale--Agatha listened, and felt that in spite of
all, the house seemed brighter for the entrance of _her_ husband. She
tried to catch what he was saying, but only heard the voice of Mr.
Dugdaie.

"Of course, as you say, it's necessary. But really tomorrow--so
soon--and for such a long time too! Couldn't both go together?"

Nathanael made some inaudible reply.

"To be sure, you know best. But--poor young thing!--I wonder what my
Harrie would have said to me. Poor, pretty little thing!"

The words, the manner, startled Agatha; She could not make them out. She
descended, looking alarmed, uneasy--a look which did not wear off all
the rest of the evening.

In leaving she wondered why Mr. Dugdale woke from his dreaminess to bid
her good-night with a fatherly air, addressing her more than once by his
superlative of kindness, "My child." When she took her husband's arm
to go out of the lighted hall-into the night, Agatha trembled, as if
something were going to happen--she knew not what.

The street was very dark, for Kingcombe people were economisers in gas;
and besides kept such primitive hours, that at ten o'clock you might
walk from one end of the town to the other and not see a light in any
house. There was not a soul abroad except these two, and their feet
echoed loudly along the pavement. At first Agatha, blinded by coming out
of light into darkness, saw nothing, but stumbled on, clinging tightly
to her husband. At length she perceived whereabouts they were--the
black, quaintly-gabled houses, the market-cross, and, far above the
sleepy town and its deserted streets, the bright wonderfully bright
stars.

Agatha took comfort when she saw the stars.

"Have we far to go? I am rather tired," she said to her husband, chiefly
for the sake of saying something.

"Tired, are you? Then you must have a quiet day tomorrow. It will be
very quiet, I doubt not;" and he sighed.

"Why so? What is to be done to-morrow? Shall you have to ride over to
Th