He had ordered a carriage immediately after an early supper; and, informing his coachman of his wish to proceed alone, drove quickly away through the dusk.  He was going to Shadrach Furnace, to meet Susan for the first time since the unhappy occasion in the Mayor’s chamber.  He had decided, stifling his increasing impatience, not to see her until Essie’s trial was over.  Susan had been at Graham Jannan’s house for nine weeks.  Her sight, he had learned, had almost completely failed in a general exhaustion; but, with rigorous care, she had nearly recovered.  The Academy had been sold to the assistant mistress; and there was an expressed uncertainty about Susan’s near future.  It had, however, no existence in Jasper Penny’s thoughts, plans—­she must marry him; any other course would now be absurd.  The track from Myrtle Forge to the Furnace was bound into his every thought and association; its familiarity, he mused, had been born in him; his horses, too, took correctly, without pressure, every turning of the way.  The road mounted, and then dropped between rounded hills to the clustering buildings, where lighted, pale yellow windows floated on the dusk, crowned by the wide-flung radiance of the Furnace stack.  The air was potent in the valley with the indeterminate scent of budding earth—­the premonitory fragrance of blossoms; and, hardly less delicate, stars flowered whitely in blue space.

He paused for a moment before entering Graham Jannan’s house, saturated with the pastoral tranquillity, listening to the flutter of wings under the eaves.  Then he went in.  They had finished supper, but were lingering at the table, with the candles guttering in an air from the open door.  His greeting was simple and glad, and without restraint.  Susan wore a dress like a white vapour, sprigged with pale buds, her throat and arms bare.  She smiled the familiar, hesitating smile, met his questioning gaze with her undeviating courage.  Jasper Penny took a chair opposite her.  Little was said.  Peace deepened about his spirit.

Graham, he saw, had a new ruddiness of health; he laid a shawl tenderly about his wife’s shoulders; and Jasper remembered that a birth was imminent.  Later he drifted with Susan to the door, and they passed out into the obscurity beyond.  Even now he was reluctant to speak, to break with importunities the serene mood.  “All the iron making,” she spoke at last, “lovely.  I have stood night after night in the cast house watching the metal pour out in its glorious colours.  And, when I wake, I go to my window and see the reflections of the blast on the trees, on the first leaves.  The charcoal burners come down like giants out of the mythology of the forest.  And, when I first came, there was a raccoon hunt, with a great stirring of lanterns and barking dogs in the dark ... all lovely.”

“It is yours,” he said, bending over her.  “You can come here at your will.  A house built.  And Myrtle Forge, too; whatever I have, am.”  He paused; but, without reply, continued more rapidly.  “It’s over, the—­the misery of the past weeks; the mistakes are dead; they are paid, Susan.  Now we may take what is left and make it as beautiful as possible.  After suffering, reparation, happiness, is every one’s due.  And I am certain I can make you happy.”