"And begin at once."
"Yes. I have given you the promise and usually keep my word."
"Then good-bye until next week."
The lamps were lighted when I passed along the oak walk that was my nearest approach home to Oaklands, and the fact that I had broken my promise to Mr. Winthrop never again to remain out alone after night filled me with alarm and self-reproach. I succeeded in gaining the house unperceived and was in abundant time for dinner, which I feared might have been served.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE CHANGED HEART.
When I entered the softly illumined dining-room, I was surprised to find Mr. Winthrop standing near the fire, and gazing into it with a preoccupied expression. Mrs. Flaxman was sitting in her favorite corner, a book lying open on her knee, her eyes fixed on Mr. Winthrop somewhat anxiously. Instinctively I felt something unusual had disturbed their serenity—the sympathetic influences about me in the air which most of us know something about, acquainted me with the fact. I was almost beside Mr. Winthrop when he began to say, "Medoline must not know"—the sentence was left unfinished, for Mrs. Flaxman seeing me said, abruptly,
"Why, Mr. Winthrop, here is our runaway."
He turned towards me, a startled look in his eyes. "Have you been out?" he asked, with some surprise at her remark.