perstitious fears. Thrusting her hand deep into a pocket, she added,
"I have some money, not much, but it will find you lodgings for a
fortnight."

"Never mind the money, girl," said Sim; "give me the horse-wallet on
my back, with a bit of barley bread--and that will do."

"You must take the money as well. These are cold, hard nights. Promise
me you'll lodge at the inns on the road; remember to keep yourself
strong, for it's your only chance of finding Ralph--promise me!"

"I give you my word, Rotha."

"And now promise to say nothing of this to Willy," said Rotha.

Sim did not reply, but a quick glance expressed more than words of the
certainty of secrecy in that regard.

"When you've crossed the Raise, follow on to Kendal," said Rotha, "and
ask everywhere as you go. A fortnight to-day the men return; remember
that, and tell Ralph when you meet."

"I fear he'll give himself up, I do," said Sim ruefully, and still
half doubting his errand.

"That's for him to decide, and he knows best," answered Rotha.
"To-night, after supper, be you at the end of the lonnin, and I'll
meet you there."

Then Sim went out of the house.

* * * * *

When Willy Ray left Rotha an hour ago it was with an overwhelming
sense of disappointment. Catching at an unfinished phrase, he had
jumped to a false conclusion as to her motives. He thought that he had
mistaken her character, and painful as it had been to him some days
ago to think that perhaps the girl had not loved him, the distress of
that moment was as nothing to the agony of this one, when he began to
suspect that perhaps he did not love her. Or if, indeed, he loved her,
how terrible it was to realize, as he thought he did but too vividly,
that she was unworthy of his love! Had she not wished to save the old
home at the cost of his brother's liberty? True, Ralph was _his_
brother, not _hers_, and perhaps it was too much to expect that she
should feel his present situation as deeply as he did. Yet he had
thought her a rich, large soul, as unselfish as pure. It was terrible
to feel that this had been an idle dream, a mere mockery of the poor
reality, and that his had been a vain fool's paradise.

Then to think that he was forever to be haunted by this idle dream; to
think that the shattered idol which he could no longer worship was to
live with him to the end, to get up and lie down with him, and stand
forever beside him!

Perhaps, after all, he