As it entered the wood below, the
dark barrel-like body of the engine seemed to give a bound, a lurch
forward, and the men that manned it laughed out suddenly and loudly. The
sound of their uncouth mirth floated upwards through the twilight. "James's ale has made them merry!" exclaimed Charles, wagging his head. "And he, going through the wood, will just have met the puffing devil. I
wish him the joy of the meeting!" II

It was five hours later. Mrs. Nagle had bidden her reverend guest good
night, and she was now moving about her large, barely furnished
bedchamber, waiting for her husband to come upstairs. The hours which had followed James Mottram's departure had seemed
intolerably long. Catherine felt as if she had gone through some
terrible physical exertion which had left her worn out--stupefied. And
yet she could not rest. Even now her day was not over; Charles often
grew restless and talkative at night. He and Mr. Dorriforth were no
doubt still sitting talking together downstairs. Mrs. Nagle could hear her husband's valet moving about in the next room,
and the servant's proximity disturbed her. She waited awhile and then went and opened the door of the
dressing-room. "You need not sit up, Collins," she said. The man looked vaguely disturbed. "I fear that Mr. Nagle, madam, has
gone out of doors," he said. Catherine felt dismayed. The winter before Charles had once stayed out
nearly all night. "Go you to bed, Collins," she said. "I will wait up till Mr. Nagle comes
in, and I will make it right with him." He looked at her doubtingly. Was it possible that Mrs. Nagle was unaware
of how much worse than usual his master had been the last few days? "I fear Mr. Nagle is not well to-day," he ventured. "He seems much
disturbed to-night." "Your master is disturbed because Mr. Mottram is again leaving England
for the Indies." Catherine forced herself to say the words. She was
dully surprised to see how quietly news so momentous to her was received
by her faithful servant. "That may be it," said the man consideringly, "but I can't help thinking
that the master is still much concerned about the railroad. I fear that
he has gone down to the wood to-night." Catherine was startled. "Oh, surely he would not do that, Collins?" She
added in a lower tone, "I myself locked the orchard gate." "If that is so," he answered, obviously relieved, "then with your leave,
madam, I'll be off to bed." Mrs. Nagle went back into her room, and sat down by the fire, and then,
sooner than she had expected to do so, she heard a familiar sound. It
came from the chapel, for Charles was fond of using that strange and
secret entry into his house. She got up and quietly opened her bedroom door. From the hall below was cast up the dim light of the oil-lamp which
always burnt there at night, and suddenly Catherine saw her husband
emerge from the chapel passage, and begin walking slowly round the
opposite side of the gallery. She watched him with languid curiosity. Charles Nagle was treading softly, his head bent as if in thought. Suddenly he stayed his steps by a half-moon table on which stood a large
Chinese bowl filled with pot-pourri; and into this he plunged his hands,
seeming to lave them in the dry rose-leaves. Catherine felt no surprise,
she was so used to his strange ways; and more than once he had hidden
things--magpie fashion--in that great bowl. She turned and closed her
door noiselessly; Charles much disliked being spied on. At last she heard him go into his dressing-room. Then came the sounds of
cupboard doors being flung open, and the hurried pouring out of
water.... But long before he could have had time to undress, she heard
the familiar knock. She said feebly, "Come in," and the door opened. It was as she had feared; her husband had no thought, no intention, of
going yet to bed. Not only was he fully dressed, but the white evening
waistcoat he had been wearing had been changed by him within the last
few moments for a waistcoat she had not seen before, though she had
heard of its arrival from London. It was of cashmere, the latest freak
of fashion. She also saw with surprise that his nankeen trousers were
stained, as if he had been kneeling on damp ground. He looked very hot,
his wavy hair lay damply on his brow, and he appeared excited,
oppressively alive. "Catherine!" he exclaimed, hurrying up to the place where she was
standing near the fire. "You will bear witness that I was always and
most positively averse to the railroad being brought here?" He did not
wait for her to answer him. "Did I not always say that trouble would
come of it--trouble to us all? Yet sometimes it's an ill thing to be
proved right." "Indeed it is, Charles," she answered gently. "But let us talk of this
to-morrow. It's time for bed, my dear, and I am very weary." He was now standing by her, staring down into the fire. Suddenly he turned and seized her left arm. He brought her unresisting
across the room, then dragged aside the heavy yellow curtains which had
been drawn before the central window. "Look over there, Catherine," he said meaningly. "Can you see the Eype? The moon gives but little light to-night, but the stars are bright. I
can see a glimmer at yon window. They must be still waiting for James to
come home." "I see the glimmer you mean," she said dully. "No doubt they leave a
lamp burning all night, as we do. James must have got home hours ago,
Charles." She saw that the cuff of her husband's coat was also covered
with dark, damp stains, and again she wondered uneasily what he had been
doing out of doors. "Catherine?" Charles Nagle turned her round, ungently, and forced her to
look up into his face. "Have you ever thought what 'twould be like to
live at the Eype?" The question startled her. She roused herself to refute what she felt to
be an unworthy accusation. "No, Charles," she said, looking at him
steadily. "God is my witness that at no time did I think of living at
the Eype! Such a wish never came to me----"

"Nor to me!" he cried, "nor to me, Catherine! All the long years that
James Mottram was in Jamaica the thought never once came to me that he
might die, and I survive him. After all we were much of an age, he had
but two years the advantage of me. I always thought that the boy--my
aunt's son, curse him!--would get it all. Then, had I thought of it--and
I swear I never did think of it--I should have told myself that any day
James might bring a wife to the Eype----"

He was staring through the leaded panes with an intent, eager gaze. "It
is a fine house, Catherine, and commodious. Larger, airier than
ours--though perhaps colder," he added thoughtfully. "Cold I always
found it in winter when I used to stay there as a boy--colder than this
house. You prefer Edgecombe, Catherine? If you were given a choice, is
it here that you would live?" He looked at her, as if impatient for an
answer. "Every stone of Edgecombe, our home, is dear to me," she said solemnly. "I have never admired the Eype.