wear, on the occasion. While they were engaged in this way, Mrs.
Collingwood told me a long story about one of her poor parishioners,
always an inexhaustible subject with her. This arrangement left Mrs.
Darrell unoccupied; and after standing at one of the open windows
looking listlessly out, she sauntered out upon the terrace, her
favourite lounge always in this summer weather. I saw her repass the
windows a few minutes afterwards, in earnest conversation with Angus
Egerton. This was some time before the other gentlemen left the
dining-room; and they were still walking slowly up and down when Mr.
Darrell and the Rector came to the drawing-room. The storm had not
yet come, and it was bright moonlight. Mr. Darrell went out and
brought his wife in, with some gentle reproof on her imprudence in
remaining out of doors so late in her thin muslin dress.

After this there came some music. Augusta Darrell sang some old
English ballads which I had never heard her sing before--simple
pathetic melodies, which, I think, brought tears to the eyes of all
of us.

Mr. Egerton sat near one of the open windows, with his face in
shadow, while she was singing; and as she began the last of these
old songs he rose with a half-impatient gesture, and went out upon
the terrace. If I watched him closely, and others in relation to
him, at this time, it was from no frivolous or impertinent
curiosity, but because I felt very certain that my darling's
happiness was at stake. I saw her little disappointed look when he
remained at the farther end of the room, talking to the gentlemen,
all the rest of that evening, instead of contriving by some means to
be near her, as he always had done during our pleasant evenings at
the Rectory.