If one of you would consent to row me down to Kit's House, it would be the exact kindness I should prefer." The Twins assented, though not without regret at his refusal to accept more.

Paul agreed to row him down, and the two started in the early twilight.

As he shook Peter's hand, Mr.Fogo looked at Tamsin.
"Good-night," he said.
"Good-night, sir." She did not offer to shake hands; she scarcely even looked up, but stood there before the chimney-place, with the fire-light outlining her form and throwing into deep shadow the side of her face that was towards him.

One arm was thrown up to grasp the mantelshelf, and against this her head rested.

The other hung listlessly at her side.
And this was the picture Mr.Fogo carried out into the grey evening.
As the door closed upon him, Peter sank into the stiff-backed chair beside the hearth with a puzzled sigh.
"Why, Tamsin," he said, as he slowly drew out his pipe and filled it, "what ailed 'ee, girl, to behave like that ?" Looking up, he saw a tear, and then a second, drop brightly on the hearth-stone.
"Little maid!" Before he could say more she had stepped to him, and, sitting on the chair-arm, had flung her arms around his neck and drawn his head towards her, that he might not look into her face.
"I hate him," she sobbed--"I hate him! I wish I had never seen him.
He despises us, and--and I was so happy before he came." The Twin set down his pipe upon his knee, and stared into the fire.
"As for hatin', Tamsin," he said gravely, "'tain't right.