"Goose!" smiled Sir Adam. "Don't you think you are sitting up too late, you young mamma?"
"I am not tired, Adam. I slept well this afternoon."
"It is later than perhaps you are aware of, Rose. Hard upon ten."
"Would you like to have lights!" she asked.
"No. I'd rather be without them."
She also would rather be without them. In this extended cause for fear that was growing up, it seemed safer to be at the open window looking out, than to be shut up in the closed room where the approaches of danger could neither be seen nor heard. Perhaps the same kind of feeling was swaying Sir Adam.
"You are sure you are well wrapped up, Rose?"
"Certain. And I could not take cold in this weather. It is like summer still."
All around was quiet as death. The stars shone in the sky: the gentle breeze, that had ruffled the trees just before, seemed to have died away. Breaking just then upon the stillness, came the sound of the church clock at Foxwood, telling its four quarters and the ten strokes of the hour after it. The same quarters, the same strokes that Miss Blake also heard, emerging from Dame Bell's cottage. The husband and wife, poor banned people, stood on again side by side, they hardly knew how long, hushing the trouble that was making a havoc of their lives, and from which they knew there could be no certain or complete escape so long as time for him should last. Presently he spoke again.
"Rose, if you stay here longer I shall close the window. This night air, calm and warm though it is, cannot be good for you----"