One Tuesday morning, as usual, she had asked leave to rise, and now she sat wrapped in her white dressing-gown, leaning forward in the easy-chair, gazing steadily and patiently from the lattice. Mrs. Pryor was seated a little behind, knitting as it seemed, but, in truth, watching her. A change crossed her pale, mournful brow, animating its languor; a light shot into her faded eyes, reviving their lustre; she half rose and looked earnestly out. Mrs. Pryor, drawing softly near, glanced over her shoulder. From this window was visible the churchyard, beyond it the road; and there, riding sharply by, appeared a horseman. The figure was not yet too remote for recognition. Mrs. Pryor had long sight; she knew Mr. Moore. Just as an intercepting rising ground concealed him from view, the clock struck twelve.
"May I lie down again?" asked Caroline.

One Tuesday morning, as usual, Caroline had asked to rise, and now she sat wrapped in her white dressing-gown, leaning forward in the easy-chair, gazing steadily through the window. Mrs. Pryor was seated behind, knitting and watching her. A change crossed her pale, mournful brow; she half rose and looked earnestly out.
Mrs. Pryor glanced over her shoulder. From here the churchyard was visible, beyond it the road; and there, riding sharply by, appeared a horseman. Mrs. Pryor recognised Mr. Moore. Just as the rising ground concealed him from view, the clock struck twelve.
"May I lie down again?" asked Caroline.
