oon
as the meal was over he would be obliged to hurry off to catch the last
train. After all the longing and expectation, it seemed as though she
were to meet with nothing but disappointment.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

DOUBT AND DREAD.

Maud had just time to change her working attire for a dress which was
suitable for the evening, though not sufficiently dressy to break the
compact which had been made with the visitor, before the gong sounded,
and she returned to the schoolroom to join the other members of the
party. Ned was standing beside the fireplace, and greeted her with a
pleasant smile as she entered.

"You didn't come out and join us in the garden," he said; and when she
replied with a vague murmur, "Ah, well," he added lightly, "perhaps you
were just as wise. There is a decided nip in the air still, and if you
get out of the sun, you are apt to feel chilled."

Maud's eyes opened with a quick glance of surprise, but she made no
remark. The words had chilled her as no east wind could have done. Did
Ned really believe that she would have stayed indoors and sacrificed an
hour of his society for fear of a slight discomfort? If he thought
this, he was indeed unconscious of the true nature of her feelings
towards him; and though Maud was the last girl in the world to wear her
heart on her sleeve, she had been happy to believe that she and Ned
understood each other, and could count on a mutual affection. She did
not know which hurt the more, the suggestion of her own indifference or
the unruffled serenity with which it was made. As she sat opposite Ned
at dinner, she studied his face, to see if she could find there a
reflection of the depression which was stealing over her own heart, but
looked in vain. Truth compelled her to admit that she had never seen
him brighter, more radiant, more full of life and animation. She tried
her best to throw off the cloud on her own spirits and to enter into the
conversation, but the effort was not a success. The hands of the clock
on the mantelpiece held her in fascinated attention. Every stroke
seemed, to sound the knell of the bright hopes with which she had looked
forward to this meeting, every stroke brought the parting nearer.

If Maud did not speak, the other girls more than made up for her
silence, talking all together in true Rendell fashion, and telling the
news of the last few months in their usual breathlessly eager fashion.
Until now, conversation had had no