The clock struck nine as I re-entered the house. A servant accosted me with a message from Mrs. Carew, requesting me to go to her in the little room in which Carew was in the habit of taking tea with her--the apartment he had described as a sanctuary of rest.

Mrs. Carew was alone.

"My husband is asleep," she said, "and asked me to see that he was not disturbed. He told me that you had gone out to see Emilius, who was to come here to-morrow morning. Have you seen him?"

"Yes, but he declares he will not wait. He insists upon seeing you to-night."

"Poor Emilius! It is but a few hours longer. He must have patience till tomorrow. Deeply as I pity him, I am grateful for the delay, for it gives me time to make a confession to you. I do not know whether it should have been made before--but now it is imperative. I have been praying for strength. My husband prayed with me. In the days of our courtship, when he and the good priest of Nerac were friends, Mr. Carew was in the habit of accompanying me and my dear parents to church; but for many years he has not entered a place of worship. I do not ask you to betray his confidence, but was he not more composed when you left him?"

"It seemed to me that he had made up his mind to a certain course--he did not explain it to me, nor did I ask him to do so--which might be the means of atoning for the errors of the past. I am not at liberty to say more; what passed between us I regard as in sacred confidence."

"I am glad he has you to rely on," said Mrs. Carew. "He came to me voluntarily an hour ago, and the conversation we had has done me good. He was wonderfully gentle and humble--but indeed, Mr. Carew was never arrogant--and I gathered the impression that he had in some way discovered that he was in the habit of walking abroad during the night and causing me distress of mind. He spoke kindly, too, of poor Emilius, and said he hoped to be forgiven for any wrong he had done that unhappy man in the past. The air is very sweet to-night, is it not?"

"I have been in some anxiety myself," I said haltingly, scarcely knowing how to reply to the question, which appeared to me a strange one at that moment, "and have scarcely noticed; but there is a soft air blowing, and the night is fine."

"You are anxious about Reginald," she said, "and Mildred?"

"Yes," I said, surprised that she should approach the subject.

She pressed my hand. "Mr. Carew, when he was here with me, said the air was peculiarly sweet, and I gather the impression from him. It is always so with one we love. I questioned myself whether I should impart to him what I am about to impart to you, but he appeared to be so much in need of rest that I decided not to agitate him. I trust he will forgive me when I make my confession to him to-morrow. To-night you will counsel, you will advise me?"

"Command me entirely," I said.

"I thank you. I have wished Mildred good-night also, and we shall be quite undisturbed. She has received a letter from your Reginald, and is replying to it. A loving task to a young girl in her position." I winced, and determined that the night should not pass without my acquainting Mrs. Carew with my views respecting the impossibility of a marriage between Mildred and Reginald. A knock at the door here caused Mrs. Carew to call "Come in."

A servant entered with keys, which he handed to his mistress.

"All the doors are securely fastened?" she asked.

"Yes, madam," replied the servant.

"Come to me," she said, "in the morning for the keys."

When we were alone Mrs. Carew said that before she commenced she wished to see that her husband was sleeping well, and I accompanied her to his room. He was lying on his right side, breathing calmly and peacefully. There was a certain intentness in the expression of his features, as though even in his sleep his mind was bent upon some fixed resolve, but otherwise I was surprised, after what he had gone through, that he should be so quiet and composed. I had never before realised how powerful was the face I was now gazing on; the firm lips, the large nose, the broad forehead, were indications of intellectual power. No sign of weakness was apparent, none of indecision or wavering. He was a man capable of a great career.

"My dear father used to say," said Mrs. Carew, "that Mr. Carew's mind was the most comprehensive he had ever met with."

She stooped and kissed him lightly on the forehead, without disturbing him. We trod gently out of the room.

"He will have a good night," she said. "I must go up to Mildred's room." The light was shining through the crevices of the door.

"Not asleep, Mildred?" said Mrs. Carew softly.

"No, mamma. I shall be, soon."

"Don't remain up too long, my dear."

"No, mamma."

"Good night, Mildred."

"Good night, dear mamma. Mamma?"

"Yes, child!"

"I have just given Reginald your love."

"That is right, my dear."

"And I have told him not to remain away too long."

"That is right, my dear."

"Good night, dearest mamma."

"Good night, my dearest."

"Alas for Reginald!" I thought, as we descended the stairs. "Alas for the hopes of that young girl!"

In her own apartment Mrs. Carew informed me that it was by her husband's wish the lower doors were securely fastened, and the keys given to her. "In order," she said, "that it might not be in his power to leave the house in his sleep. He did not say so, but that was his thought."