coat a creased and pocket-worn envelope containing
Cytherea's letter to himself, Springrove opened it and read it through.
He was upbraided therein, and he was dismissed. It bore the date of the
letter sent to Manston, and by containing within it the phrase, 'All the
day long I have been thinking,' afforded justifiable ground for assuming
that it was written subsequently to the other (and in Edward's sight far
sweeter one) to the steward.

But though he accused her of fickleness, he would not doubt the
genuineness, in its kind, of her partiality for him at Budmouth. It was
a short and shallow feeling--not perfect love:

'Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds.'

But it was not flirtation; a feeling had been born in her and had died.
It would be well for his peace of mind if his love for her could flit
away so softly, and leave so few traces behind.

Miss Aldclyffe had shown herself desperately concerned in the whole
matter by the alacrity with which she had obtained the letter from
Manston, and her labours to induce himself to marry his cousin. Taken in
connection with her apparent interest in, if not love for, Cytherea, her
eagerness, too, could only be accounted for on the ground that Cytherea
indeed loved the steward.

5. DECEMBER THE FOURTH

Edward passed the night he scarcely knew how, tossing feverishly from
side to side, the blood throbbing in his temples, and singing in his
ears.

Before the day began to break he dressed himself. On going out upon
the landing he found his father's bedroom door already open. Edward
concluded that the old man had risen softly, as was his wont, and gone
out into the fields to start the labourers. But neither of the outer
doors was unfastened. He entered the front room, and found it empty.
Then animated by a new idea, he went round to the little back parlour,
in which the few wrecks saved from the fire were deposited, and looked
in at the door. Here, near the window, the shutters of which had been
opened half way, he saw his father leaning on the bureau, his elbows
resting on the flap, his body nearly doubled, his hands clasping his
forehead. Beside him were ghostly-looking square folds of parchment--the
leases of the houses destroyed.

His father looked up when Edward entered, and wearily spoke to the young
man as his face came into the faint light.

'Edward, why did you get up so early?'

'I was uneasy, and could not sleep.'

The farmer