Before they left Nestley, Helen had said to Mrs. Bevis that she would like to ask Miss Meredith to visit them for a few days.

“No one knows much about her,” remarked Mrs. Bevis, feeling responsible.

“She can’t be poison,” returned Helen.  “And if she were, she couldn’t hurt us.  That’s the good of being husband and wife:  so long as you are of one mind, you can do almost any thing.”

When Faber called upon Juliet in the evening, nothing passed between them concerning the situation at which he had hinted.  When he entered she was seated as usual in the corner of the dingy little couch, under the small window looking into the garden, in the shadow.  She did not rise, but held out her hand to him.  He went hastily up to her, took the hand she offered, sat down beside her, and at once broke into a full declaration of his love—­now voluble, now hesitating, now submissive, now persuasive, but humblest when most passionate.  Whatever the man’s conceit, or his estimate of the thing he would have her accept, it was in all honesty and modesty that he offered her the surrender of the very citadel of his being—­alas, too “empty, swept, and garnished!” Juliet kept her head turned from him; he felt the hand he held tremble, and every now and then make a faint struggle to escape from his; but he could not see that her emotion was such as hardly to be accounted for either by pleasure at the hearing of welcome words, or sorrow that her reply must cause pain.  He ceased at length, and with eyes of longing sought a glimpse of her face, and caught one.  Its wild, waste expression frightened him.  It was pallid like an old sunset, and her breath came and went stormily.  Three times, in a growing agony of effort, her lips failed of speech.  She gave a sudden despairing cast of her head sideways, her mouth opened a little as if with mere helplessness, she threw a pitiful glance in his face, burst into a tumult of sobs, and fell back on the couch.  Not a tear came to her eyes, but such was her trouble that she did not even care to lift her hand to her face to hide the movements of its rebellious muscles.  Faber, bewildered, but, from the habits of his profession, master of himself, instantly prepared her something, which she took obediently; and as soon as she was quieted a little, mounted and rode away:  two things were clear—­one, that she could not be indifferent to him; the other, that, whatever the cause of her emotion, she would for the present be better without him.  He was both too kind and too proud to persist in presenting himself.

The next morning Helen drew up her ponies at Mrs. Puckridge’s door, and Wingfold got out and stood by their heads, while she went in to call on Miss Meredith.