The front of the house was towards the heath and Rainbarrow, whose dark shape seemed to threaten it from the sky.  Upon the door was a neglected brass plate, bearing the unexpected inscription, “Mr. Wildeve, Engineer”—­a useless yet cherished relic from the time when he had been started in that profession in an office at Budmouth by those who had hoped much from him, and had been disappointed.  The garden was at the back, and behind this ran a still deep stream, forming the margin of the heath in that direction, meadow-land appearing beyond the stream.

But the thick obscurity permitted only skylines to be visible of any scene at present.  The water at the back of the house could be heard, idly spinning whirpools in its creep between the rows of dry feather-headed reeds which formed a stockade along each bank.  Their presence was denoted by sounds as of a congregation praying humbly, produced by their rubbing against each other in the slow wind.

The window, whence the candlelight had shone up the vale to the eyes of the bonfire group, was uncurtained, but the sill lay too high for a pedestrian on the outside to look over it into the room.  A vast shadow, in which could be dimly traced portions of a masculine contour, blotted half the ceiling.

“He seems to be at home,” said Mrs. Yeobright.

“Must I come in, too, aunt?” asked Thomasin faintly.  “I suppose not; it would be wrong.”

“You must come, certainly—­to confront him, so that he may make no false representations to me.  We shall not be five minutes in the house, and then we’ll walk home.”

Entering the open passage she tapped at the door of the private parlour, unfastened it, and looked in.

The back and shoulders of a man came between Mrs. Yeobright’s eyes and the fire.  Wildeve, whose form it was, immediately turned, arose, and advanced to meet his visitors.

He was quite a young man, and of the two properties, form and motion, the latter first attracted the eye in him.  The grace of his movement was singular:  it was the pantomimic expression of a lady-killing career.  Next came into notice the more material qualities, among which was a profuse crop of hair impending over the top of his face, lending to his forehead the high-cornered outline of an early Gothic shield; and a neck which was smooth and round as a cylinder.  The lower half of his figure was of light build.  Altogether he was one in whom no man would have seen anything to admire, and in whom no woman would have seen anything to dislike.

He discerned the young girl’s form in the passage, and said, “Thomasin, then, has reached home.  How could you leave me in that way, darling?” And turning to Mrs. Yeobright:  “It was useless to argue with her.  She would go, and go alone.”

“But what’s the meaning of it all?” demanded Mrs. Yeobright haughtily.

“Take a seat,” said Wildeve, placing chairs for the two women.  “Well, it was a very stupid mistake, but such mistakes will happen.  The license was useless at Anglebury.  It was made out for Budmouth, but as I didn’t read it I wasn’t aware of that.”