ng to a secret appointment with him.'

'Never, by God, madam! never!'

'What do you say, sir?'

'Never.'

She sneered.

'There's no accounting for beliefs, and the whole history is a very
trivial matter; but I am resolved to prove that a lady's word is
truthful, though upon a matter which concerns neither you nor herself.
You shall learn that she _did_ write him a letter concerning an
assignation--that is, if Mr. Manston still has it, and will be
considerate enough to lend it me.'

'But besides,' continued Edward, 'a married man to do what would cause a
young girl to write a note of the kind you mention!'

She flushed a little.

'That I don't know anything about,' she stammered. 'But Cytherea didn't,
of course, dream any more than I did, or others in the parish, that he
was married.'

'Of course she didn't.'

'And I have reason to believe that he told her of the fact directly
afterwards, that she might not compromise herself, or allow him to.
It is notorious that he struggled honestly and hard against her
attractions, and succeeded in hiding his feelings, if not in quenching
them.'

'We'll hope that he did.'

'But circumstances are changed now.'

'Very greatly changed,' he murmured abstractedly.

'You must remember,' she added more suasively, 'that Miss Graye has a
perfect right to do what she likes with her own--her heart, that is to
say.'

Her descent from irritation was caused by perceiving that Edward's faith
was really disturbed by her strong assertions, and it gratified her.

Edward's thoughts flew to his father, and the object of his interview
with her. Tongue-fencing was utterly distasteful to him.

'I will not trouble you by remaining longer, madam,' he remarked,
gloomily; 'our conversation has ended sadly for me.'

'Don't think so,' she said, 'and don't be mistaken. I am older than you
are, many years older, and I know many things.'

Full of miserable doubt, and bitterly regretting that he had raised his
father's expectations by anticipations impossible of fulfilment, Edward
slowly went his way into the village, and approached his cousin's house.
The farmer was at the door looking eagerly for him. He had been waiting
there for more than half-an-hour. His eye kindled quickly.

'Well, Ted, what does she say?' he asked, in the intensely sanguine
tones which fall sadly upon a listener's ear, because, antecedently,
they raise pictures of inevitable disappointment for the speaker, in
so