It happened, however, that Mr. Helstone had no suspicion whatever on his mind; for being usually but vaguely informed of his niece's movements, not thinking it worth while to follow them closely, he was not aware that she had been out at all that day, and imagined her then occupied with book or work in her chamber--where, indeed, she was by this time, though not absorbed in the tranquil employment he ascribed to her, but standing at her window with fast-throbbing heart, peeping anxiously from behind the blind, watching for her uncle to re-enter and her cousin to escape. And at last she was gratified. She heard Mr. Helstone come in; she saw Robert stride the tombs and vault the wall; she then went down to prayers. When she returned to her chamber, it was to meet the memory of Robert. Slumber's visitation was long averted. Long she sat at her lattice, long gazed down on the old garden and older church, on the tombs laid out all gray and calm, and clear in moonlight. She followed the steps of the night, on its pathway of stars, far into the "wee sma' hours ayont the twal'." She was with Moore, in spirit, the whole time; she was at his side; she heard his voice; she gave her hand into his hand; it rested warm in his fingers. When the church clock struck, when any other sound stirred, when a little mouse familiar to her chamber--an intruder for which she would never permit Fanny to lay a trap--came rattling amongst the links of her locket-chain, her one ring, and another trinket or two on the toilet-table, to nibble a bit of biscuit laid ready for it, she looked up, recalled momentarily to the real. Then she said half aloud, as if deprecating the accusation of some unseen and unheard monitor, "I am not cherishing love dreams; I am only thinking because I cannot sleep. 
Mr. Helstone, however, had no suspicion on his mind. He was not aware that his niece had been out that day, and imagined her to be reading in her chamber - where, indeed, she was by this time, though not reading, but standing at her window with fast-throbbing heart, peeping anxiously from behind the blind. At last she heard Mr. Helstone come in; she saw Robert vault the churchyard wall; she then went down to prayers.
When she returned to her chamber, it was to meet the memory of Robert. Long she sat at her window, long gazed down on the old garden and church, on the tombs laid out grey and calm in moonlight. She was with Moore in spirit; she was at his side; she heard his voice; she gave her hand into his hand; it rested warm in his fingers. When the church clock struck, a little mouse familiar to her chamber - an intruder for which she would never permit Fanny to lay a trap - came rattling amongst the trinkets on the dressing-table, to nibble a bit of biscuit laid ready for it. Then Caroline looked up, recalled to the real world, and said half aloud, as if to some unseen accuser:
"I am not cherishing love dreams; I am only thinking because I cannot sleep. 