"Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. She hated living like that. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life. He bent to her hand, and she slipped off the ring and gave it to him to examine. She never knew what became of her farmer after that. The prisoner was then thrust in by Quilt. And thus he was once more free, having effected one of the most wonderful escapes ever planned or accomplished. By and by he ventured to peer into this window.
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