, her cup will be indeed full.

Sir James--who, as a rule, is the most amiable of men--is now dark
with anger.

"Branscombe--here?" he says, indignantly.

"Yes. He had evidently heard nothing. But I told him; and--and then he
said things he should not have said; and he held my reins; and I
forgot myself," says poor Clarissa, with anguish in her eyes; "and I
raised my whip, and struck him across the face. Jim, if you say I was
wrong in doing this thing, you will kill me."

"Wrong!" says Scrope. "Hanging would be too good for him. Oh, to think
you should have been alone on such an occasion as that!"

"But it was a hateful thing to do, wasn't it?" says Miss Peyton,
faintly.

"Hateful? Why? I only wish you had laid his cheek open," says Sir
James, venomously. "But of course this poor little hand could not
manage so much." Stooping involuntarily, he presses his lips to the
hand that rests upon her knee.

"That wasn't the hand at all," says Miss Peyton, feeling inexpressibly
consoled by his tone and manner.

"Wasn't it? Then I shall kiss the right one now," says Sir James, and
caresses the other hand right warmly.

"I can't go on to Sartoris to-day," says Clarissa, in a troubled tone,
checking her horse in the middle of the broad avenue.

"No; come home instead," says Scrope; and, turning, they go slowly,
and almost silently, back to Gowran.

* * * * *

Horace, rousing himself after his encounter with Clarissa, puts his
hand impulsively to his face, the sting of the blow still remaining.
His illness has left him somewhat prostrate and weak; so that he feels
more intensely than he otherwise would the pain that has arisen from
the sudden stroke. A bitter execration rises to his lips; and then,
feeling that all hope of reconciliation with Clarissa is at an end, he
returns to Langham Station, and, with a mind full of evil thoughts
and bitter revenge, goes back to town.

Wild and disturbed in appearance, he breaks in upon Ruth as she sits
reading alone in the very room where she had last seen Clarissa. As he
enters, she utters a glad little cry of welcome, and, springing to her
feet, goes over to him.

"So soon returned?" she says, joyfully; and then something she sees in
his face freezes within her all further expressions of pleasure: his
eyes are dark, his whole face is livid with rage.

"So you betrayed me?" he says, pushing her away from him. "Now, no
lies! I saw Clarissa Peyt