"You can't?"

She shook her head.

"I--I have told no one yet--not even Aunt Mary. I am going to marry Mr.
Spence."

For a long time he was silent, and she did not dare to look at the
suffering in his face.

"Honora," he said at last, "my most earnest wish in life will be for
your happiness. And whatever may, come to you I hope that you will
remember that I am your friend, to be counted on. And that I shall not
change. Will you remember that?"

"Yes," she whispered. She looked at him now, and through the veil of
her tears she seemed to see his soul shining in his eyes. The tones of a
distant church bell were borne to them on the valley breeze.

Peter glanced at his watch.

"I am afraid," he said, "that I haven't time to go back to the house--my
train goes at seven. Can I get down to the village through the valley?"

Honora pointed out the road, faintly perceptible through the trees
beneath them.

"And you will apologize for my departure to Mrs. Holt?"

She nodded. He took her hand, pressed it, and was gone. And presently,
in a little clearing far below, he turned and waved his hat at her
bravely.

CHAPTER XII. WHICH CONTAINS A SURPRISE FOR MRS. HOLT

How long she sat gazing with unseeing eyes down the valley Honora did
not know. Distant mutterings of thunder aroused her; the evening sky
had darkened, and angry-looking clouds of purple were gathering over the
hills. She rose and hurried homeward. She had thought to enter by the
billiard-room door, and so gain her own chamber without encountering the
household; but she had reckoned without her hostess. Beyond the billiard
room, in the little entry filled with potted plants, she came face to
face with that lady, who was inciting a footman to further efforts in
his attempt to close a recalcitrant skylight. Honora proved of more
interest, and Mrs. Holt abandoned the skylight.

"Why, my dear," she said, "where have you been all afternoon?"

"I--I have been walking with Mr. Erwin, Mrs. Holt. I have been showing
him Silverdale."

"And where is he? It seems to me I invited him to stay all night, and
Joshua tells me he extended the invitation."

"We were in the little summer-house, and suddenly he discovered that it
was late and he had to catch the seven o'clock train," faltered Honora,
somewhat disconnectedly. "Otherwise he would have come to you himself
and told you--how much he regretted not staying. He has to go to St.
Louis to-night."

"Well,"