sooner we both forget what I must call folly, the
better."

She took the airs of a woman considerably
older and more experienced than himself. He
thought her haughty; she was only miserable.

"You are mistaken," said he, more quietly
and with more dignity than was likely from his
previous conduct." I will not allow you to
characterise as folly what might be presumptuous
on my part. I had no business to express myself
so soon; but which in its foundation was true
and sincere. That I can answer for most
solemnly. It is a possible, though it may not be
a usual thing, for a man to feel so strongly
attracted by the charms and qualities of a woman,
even at first sight, as to feel sure that she, and
she alone, can make his happiness. My folly
consisted — there you are right — in even dreaming
that you could return my feelings in the
slightest degree, when you had only seen me once.
And I am most truly ashamed of myself. I cannot
tell you how sorry I am, when I see how
you have compelled yourself to come and speak
to me when you are so ill."

She staggered into a chair, for with all her wish
for his speedy dismissal, she was obliged to be
seated. His hand was upon the bell.

"No, don't!" she said. " Wait a minute."

His eyes, bent upon her with a look of deep
anxiety, touched her at that moment, and she
was on the point of shedding tears; but she
checked herself, and rose again.

"I will go," said he. "It is the kindest thing
I can do. Only, may I write? May I venture
to write and urge what I have to say more
coherently?"

"No!" said she. "Don't write. I have given
you my answer. We are nothing, and can be
nothing to each other. I am engaged to be
married. I should not have told you if you had
not been so kind. Thank you. But go now."

The poor young man's face fell, and he became
almost as white as she was for the instant. After
a moment's reflection, he took her hand in his,
and said:

"May God bless you, and him too, whoever
he may be. But if you want a friend, I may be
that friend, may I not? and try to prove that
my words of regard were true, in a better and
higher sense than I used them at first." And
kissing her passive hand, he was gone, and she
was left sitting alone.

But solitude was not what she could bear. She
went quickly up-stairs, and took a strong dose of
sal-volatile, even while she heard Miss Monro
calling to her.

"My dear, who was that gentleman that has
been closeted with you in the drawing-room all
this time?"

And then, without listening to Ellinor's reply,
she went on:

"Mrs. Jackson has been here (it was at Mrs.
Jackson's house that Mr. Dunster lodged), wanting
to know if we could tell her where Mr.
Dunster was, for he never came home last night
at all. And you were in the drawing-room with
— who did you say he was? — that Mr. Livingstone,
who might have come at a better time to
bid good-by, and he had never dined here, had
he? so I don't see any reason he had to come calling,
and P. P. C.-ing, and your papa not up. So
I said to Mrs. Jackson, 'I'll send and ask Mr.
Wilkins if you like, but I don't see any use in
it, for I can tell you just as well as anybody that
Mr. Dunster in not in this house, wherever he
may be.' Yet nothing would satisfy her but that
some one must go and waken up your papa, and
ask if he could tell where Mr. Dunster was."

"And did papa?" inquired Ellinor, her dry
throat huskily forming the inquiry that seemed
to be expected from her.

"No! to be sure not. How should Mr. Wilkins
know? As I said to Mrs. Jackson, 'Mr. Wilkins
is not likely to know where Mr. Dunster spends
his time when he is not in the office, for they do
not move in the same rank of life, my good
woman;' and Mrs. Jackson apologised, but said
that yesterday they had both been dining at Mr.
Hodgson's together, she believed; and somehow
she had got it into her head that Mr. Dunster
might have missed his way in coming along
Moor-lane, and might have slipped into the
canal; so she just thought she would step up
and ask Mr. Wilkins if they had left Mr.Hodgson's
together, or if your papa had driven home. I
asked her why she had not told me all these
particulars before, for I could have asked your papa
myself all about when he last saw Mr. Dunster;
and I went up to ask him a second time, but he
did not like it at all, for he was busy dressing,
and I had to shout my questions through the
door, and he could not always hear me at first."

"What did he say?"

"Oh! he had walked part of the way with Mr.
Dunster, and then cut across by the short path
through the fields, as far as I could understand
him through the door. He seemed very much
annoyed to hear that Mr. Dunster had not been
at home all night; but he said I was to tell Mrs.
Jackson that he would go to the office as soon as
he had had his breakfast, which he ordered to be
sent up directly into his own room, and he had
no doubt it would all turn out right; but that
she had better go home at once. And, as I told
her, she might find Mr. Dunster there by the time
she got there. There, there is your papa going
out! He has not lost any time over his breakfast!"

Ellinor had taken up the Hamley Examiner, a
daily paper, which lay on the table, to hide her
face in the first instance; but it served a second
purpose, as she glanced languidly over the
columns of the advertisements.

"Oh! here are Colonel Macdonald's orchideous
plants to be sold! All the stock of hothouse
and stove-plants at Hartwell Priory. I must
send James over to Hartwell to attend the sale.
It is to last for three days."

"But can he be spared for so long?"

"Oh yes; he had better stay at the little inn