"I--I'm very sorry," he broke down: "upon my soul, I am!" The old man went to the mantel-piece and leaned his elbow before the glass.
Emilia's bosom began to rise again.
She was startled to hear him laugh.

A slight melancholy little burst; and then a louder one, followed by a full-toned laughter that fell short and showed the heart was not in it.
"That boy Braintop! What fun it was!" he said, looking all the while into the glass.

"Why can't we live in peace, and without bother! Is your candle alight, my dear ?" Emilia now thought that he was practising evasion.
"I will light it," she said.
Mr.Pole gave a wearied sigh.

His head being still turned to the glass, he listened with a shrouded face for her movements: saying, "Good night; good night; I'll light my own.

There's a dear!" A shouting was in his ears, which seemed to syllable distinctly: "If she goes at once, I'm safe." The sight of pain at all was intolerable to him; but he had a prophetic physical warning now that to witness pain inflicted by himself would be more than he could endure.
Emilia breathed a low, "Good night." "Good night, my love--all right to-morrow!" he replied briskly; and remorse touching his kind heart as the music of her 'good night' penetrated to it by thrilling avenues, he added injudiciously: "Don't fret.