count of her engagement."

"Her engagement?"

"Yes. She is to be married to my brother some time next year."

He hates himself bitterly as he says this: but something within him
compels him to the cruel deed, if only through pity for the girl who
walks beside him.

They are now within the shade of trees, and he cannot see her face;
though in very truth, if he could have seen it at this moment, he
would not have looked at it. No word escapes her; she walks on
steadily, as though actually made strong by the receiving of the blow.

Dorian would gladly believe that her silence means indifference; but
to-night has forced a truth upon him that for months he has
determinedly put behind him. Her tears, her agitation, the agony that
shone in her eyes as she fixed them upon Horace's form in the window,
have betrayed only too surely the secret she would so gladly hide.

She makes no further attempt at conversation, and, when they come to
the little iron gate that leads on to the road, would have passed
through, and gone on her homeward way mechanically, without bidding
him even good-night, as if (which is indeed the case) she has
forgotten the very fact of his near presence.

But he cannot let her go without a word.

"Good-night," he says, very kindly, his tone warmer because of his
pity for her. "Take care of yourself. Are you sure you do not fear
going alone?"

"Yes." Her voice is low, and sounds strange, even in her own ears.

"Wrap your shawl more closely round you. The night is cold. Is the
pain in your side better?"

"Yes,"--almost regretfully.

"That is right. Well, good-by. I shall stand here until I see you have
safely turned the corner; then I shall know you are out of all
danger." He has been holding her hand somewhat anxiously all this
time, not quite liking the strained expression in her face. Now he
presses it, and then drops it gently.

"Good-night," returns she, slowly, and then turns away from him, never
remembering to thank him for his kindness,--hardly, indeed, conscious
of having spoken the farewell word.

Her brain seems on fire; her body cold as death. Oh, to be in her own
room, free from all watching eyes, where she can fling herself upon
the ground, and moan and cry aloud against her fate, with only the
friendly darkness to overhear her! She hurries rapidly onward, and
soon the corner hides her from sight.

Dorian, when she has safely passed the spot agreed upon, goes back
once more in t