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The place is lonely enough for a man to be murdered there and nobody be any the wiser; but, as I have nothing to lose, it will answer well enough for me.” He might, perhaps, have said a good deal more about the place, but at this moment the sound of wheels upon the high-road announced the return of the travellers, and two or three minutes afterward the carriage dashed through the gate, and past Mr. James Conyers. Whatever power this man might have over Aurora, whatever knowledge of a compromising secret he might have obtained and traded upon, the fearlessness of her nature showed itself now as always, and she never flinched at the sight of him. If he had placed himself in her way on purpose to watch the effect of his presence, he must have been disappointed; for, except that a cold shadow of disdain passed over her face as the carriage drove by him, he might have imagined himself unseen. She looked pale and careworn, and her eyes seemed to have grown larger since her illness; but she held her head as erect as ever, and had still the air of imperial grandeur which constituted one of her chief charms. “So that is Mr. Mellish,” said Conyers, as the carriage disappeared. “He seems very fond of his wife.” “Yes, sure; and he is, too. Fond of her! Why, they say there is n’t another such couple in all Yorkshire. And she’s fond of him, too, bless her handsome face! But who would n’t be fond of Master John?” Mr. Conyers shrugged his shoulders; these patriarchal habits and domestic virtues had no particular charm for him.