you!” 

 He looked absently towards Rainbarrow while one might have counted twenty, and said, as if he did not much mind all this, “Yes, I will go home. Do you mean to see me again?” 

 “If you own to me that the wedding is broken off because you love me best.” 

 “I don’t think it would be good policy,” said Wildeve, smiling. “You would get to know the extent of your power too clearly.” 

 “But tell me!” 

 “You know.” 

 “Where is she now?” 

 “I don’t know. I prefer not to speak of her to you. I have not yet married her; I have come in obedience to your call. That is enough.” 

 “I merely lit that fire because I was dull, and thought I would get a little excitement by calling you up and triumphing over you as the Witch of Endor called up Samuel. I determined you should come; and you have come! I have shown my power. A mile and half hither, and a mile and half back again to your home—three miles in the dark for me. Have I not shown my power?” 

 He shook his head at her. “I know you too well, my Eustacia; I know you too well. There isn’t a note in you which I don’t know; and that hot little bosom couldn’t play such a cold-blooded trick to save its life. I saw a woman on Rainbarrow at dusk looking down towards my house. I think I drew out you before you drew out me.” 

 The revived embers of an old passion glowed clearly in Wildeve now; and he leant forward as if about to put his face towards her cheek. 

 “O no,” she said, intractably moving to the other side of the decayed fire. “What did you mean by that?” 

 “Perhaps I may kiss your hand?” 

 “No, you may not.” 

 “Then I may shake your hand?” 

 “No.” 

 “Then I wish you good night without caring for either. Good-bye, good-bye.” 

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