Rimmer was throwing up the windows. In another minute the church clock
boomed out the first stroke of twelve, and the room fell into a dead
silence. With the last stroke the Captain rose, glass in hand.

"A happy New Year to you, gentlemen! A happy New Year to us all. May it
bring to us health and prosperity!"

"And God's blessing," reverently added Robert Grame aloud, as if to
remedy an omission.

Ring, ring, ring! Ah, there it came, the soft harmony of the chimes,
stealing up through the midnight air. Not quite as loudly heard,
perhaps, as usual, for there was no wind to waft it, but in tones
wondrously clear and sweet. Never had the strains of the "Bay of Biscay"
brought to the ear more charming melody. How soothing it was to those
enrapt listeners; seeming to tell of peace.

But soon another sound arose to mingle with it. A harsh, grating sound,
like the noise of wheels passing over gravel. Heads were lifted; glances
expressed surprise. With the last strains of the chimes dying away in
the distance, a carriage of some kind galloped up to the hall door.

Eliza Hamlyn alighted from it--with her child and its nurse. As quickly
as she could make opportunity after that scene enacted in her
breakfast-room in London in the morning, that is, as soon as her
husband's back was turned, she had quitted the house with the maid and
child, to take the train for home, bringing with her--it was what she
phrased it--her shameful tale.