not quite fit to go out anywhere yet.’  Mrs. Robert had hardly expected them to come, but she had observed her husband’s behests.  So far there had been a family reconciliation during the first few days after the prisoner’s release; but no sign came from Mrs. Bolton; and Mr. Bolton, though he had given his orders, was not at first urgent in requiring obedience to them.  Then she received a letter from Hester.

’DEAREST, DEAREST MAMMA,—­Of course you know that my darling husband has come back to me.  All I want now to make me quite happy is to have you once again as my own, own mother.  Will you not send me a line to say that it shall all be as though these last long dreary months had never been;—­so that I may go to you and show you my baby once again?  And, dear mamma, say one word to me to let me know that you know that he is my husband.  Tell papa to say so also.—­Your most affectionate daughter,

    ‘HESTER CALDIGATE.’

Mrs. Bolton found this letter on the breakfast-table lying, as was usual with her letters, close to her plate, and she read it without saying a word to her husband.  Then she put it in her pocket, and still did not say a word.  Before the middle of the day she had almost made up her mind that she would keep the letter entirely to herself.  It was well, she thought, that he had not seen it, and no good could be done by showing it to him.  But he had been in the breakfast-parlour before her, had seen the envelope, and had recognised the handwriting.  They were sitting together after lunch, and she was just about to open the book of sermons with which, at that time, she was regaling him, when he stopped her with a question.  ‘What did Hester say in her letter?’

Even those who intend to be truthful are sometimes surprised into a lie.  ‘What letter?’ she said.  But she remembered herself at once, and knew that she could not afford to be detected in a falsehood.  ’That note from Hester?  Yes;—­I had a note this morning.’

‘I know you had a note.  What does she say?’

‘She tells me that he—­he has come back.’

’And what else?  She was well aware that we knew that without her telling us.’

‘She wants to come here.’

‘Bid her come.’

‘Of course she shall come.’

‘And him.’  To this she made no answer, except with the muscles of her face, which involuntarily showed her antagonism to the order she had received.  ‘Bid her bring her husband with her,’ said the banker.

‘He would not come,—­though I were to ask him.’

‘Then let it be on his own head.’

‘I will not ask him,’ she said at last, looking away across the room at the blank wall.  ’I will not belie my own heart.  I do not want to see him here.  He has so far got the better of me; but I will not put my neck beneath his feet for him to tread on me.’

Then there was a pause;—­not that he intended to allow her disobedience to pass, but that he was driven to bethink himself how he might best oppose her.  ‘Woman,’ he said, ‘you can neither forgive nor forget.’