re lay her
life--out of doors--dank and dull; all the summer faded from it--all
its atmosphere a growing fog! She would never see Tom again! It was six
weeks since she saw him last! He must have ceased to think of her by
this time! And, if he did think of her again, she would be far off,
nobody knew where.

Something struck the window with a slight, sharp clang. It was winter,
and there were no moths or other insects flying, What could it be? She
put her face close to the pane, and looked out. There was a man in the
shadow of one of the ricks! He had his hat off, and was beckoning to
her. It could be nobody but Tom! The thought sent to her heart a pang
of mingled pleasure and pain. Clearly he wanted to speak to her! How
gladly she would! but then would come again all the trouble of
conscious deceit: how was she to bear that all over again! Still, if
she was going to be turned out of the house so soon, what would it
matter? If her aunt was going to compel her to be her own mistress,
where was the harm if she began it a few days sooner? What did it
matter anyhow what she did? But she dared not speak to him! Mrs.
Wardour's ears were as sharp as her eyes. The very sound of her own
voice in the moonlight would terrify her. She opened the lattice
softly, and gently shaking her head--she dared not shake it
vigorously--was on the point of closing it again, when, making frantic
signs of entreaty, the man stepped into the moonlight, and it was
plainly Tom. It was too dreadful! He might be seen any moment! She
shook her head again, in a way she meant, and he understood, to mean
she dared not. He fell on his knees and laid his hands together like
one praying. Her heart interpreted the gesture as indicating that he
was in trouble, and that, therefore, he begged her to go to him. With
sudden resolve she nodded acquiescence, and left the window.

Her room was in a little wing, projecting from the back of the house,
over the kitchen. The servants' rooms were in another part, but Letty
forgot a tiny window in one of them, which looked also upon the ricks.
There was a back stair to the kitchen, and in the kitchen a door to the
farm-yard. She stole down the stair, and opened the door with absolute
noiselessness. In a moment more she had stolen on tiptoe round the
corner, and was creeping like a ghost among the ricks. Not even a
rustle betrayed her as she came up to Tom from behind. He still knelt
where she had left him, looking up to he