At twelve o’clock the bride is led to the marriage-chamber and undressed; the lights are blown out, and the bridegroom is brought to the door by the best man, who gives him the key; then the door is shut and locked, and the revels rise higher than ever. There is no thought of sleep till morning, and no unoccupied spot where sleep may be found.

It was at this stage of the proceedings on the night of Tant’ Sannie’s wedding that Lyndall sat near the doorway in one of the side-rooms, to watch the dancers as they appeared and disappeared in the yellow cloud of dust. Gregory sat moodily in a corner of the large dancing-room. His little betrothed touched his arm.

“I wish you would go and ask Lyndall to dance with you,” she said; “she must be so tired; she has sat still the whole evening.”

“I have asked her three times,” replied her lover shortly. “I’m not going to be her dog, and creep to her feet, just to give her the pleasure of kicking me — not for you, Em, nor for anybody else.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you had asked her, Greg,” said his little betrothed humbly; and she went away to pour out coffee.

Nevertheless, some time after Gregory found he had shifted so far round the room as to be close to the door where Lyndall sat. After standing for some time he inquired whether he might not bring her a cup of coffee. She declined: but still he stood on (why should he not stand there as well as anywhere else?), and then he stepped into the bedroom.

“May I not bring you a stove, Miss Lyndall, to put your feet on?”

“Thank you.”

He sought for one, and put it under her feet.

“There is a draught from that broken window, shall I stuff something in the pane?”

“No; we want air.”

Gregory looked round, but, nothing else suggesting itself, he sat down on a box on the opposite side of the door. Lyndall sat before him, her chin resting in her hand; her eyes, steel-gray by day but black by night, looked through the doorway into the next room. After a time he thought she had entirely forgotten his proximity, and he dared to inspect the little hands and neck as he never dared when he was in momentary dread of the eyes being turned upon him. She was dressed in black, which seemed to take her yet further from the white-clad, gewgawed women about her; and the little hands were white, and the diamond ring glittered. Where had she got that ring? He bent forward a little and tried to decipher the letters, but the candle-light was too faint. When he looked up her eyes were fixed on him. She was looking at him — not, Gregory felt, as she had ever looked at him before; not as though he were a stump or a stone that chance had thrown in her way. To-night, whether it were critically, or kindly, or unkindly he could not tell, but she looked at him, at the man, Gregory Rose, with attention. A vague elation filled him. He clenched his fist tight to think of some good idea he might express to her; but of all those profound things he had pictured himself as saying to her, when he sat alone in the daub-and-wattle house, not one came. He said at last: