not press me further: no, you
have not pressed me--I don't mean that--but I would rather not speak
upon the subject.'

Stephen's words were hurried.

Knight said no more, and they followed in the footsteps of Elfride, who
still kept some paces in advance, and had not heard Knight's unconscious
allusion to her. Stephen bade him adieu at the churchyard-gate without
going outside, and watched whilst he and his sweetheart mounted their
horses.

'Good heavens, Elfride,' Knight exclaimed, 'how pale you are! I suppose
I ought not to have taken you into that vault. What is the matter?'

'Nothing,' said Elfride faintly. 'I shall be myself in a moment. All was
so strange and unexpected down there, that it made me unwell.'

'I thought you said very little. Shall I get some water?'

'No, no.'

'Do you think it is safe for you to mount?'

'Quite--indeed it is,' she said, with a look of appeal.

'Now then--up she goes!' whispered Knight, and lifted her tenderly into
the saddle.

Her old lover still looked on at the performance as he leant over the
gate a dozen yards off. Once in the saddle, and having a firm grip of
the reins, she turned her head as if by a resistless fascination, and
for the first time since that memorable parting on the moor outside
St. Launce's after the passionate attempt at marriage with him, Elfride
looked in the face of the young man she first had loved. He was the
youth who had called her his inseparable wife many a time, and whom she
had even addressed as her husband. Their eyes met. Measurement of life
should be proportioned rather to the intensity of the experience than
to its actual length. Their glance, but a moment chronologically, was
a season in their history. To Elfride the intense agony of reproach in
Stephen's eye was a nail piercing her heart with a deadliness no words
can describe. With a spasmodic effort she withdrew her eyes, urged on
the horse, and in the chaos of perturbed memories was oblivious of any
presence beside her. The deed of deception was complete.

Gaining a knoll on which the park transformed itself into wood and
copse, Knight came still closer to her side, and said, 'Are you better
now, dearest?'

'Oh yes.' She pressed a hand to her eyes, as if to blot out the image of
Stephen. A vivid scarlet spot now shone with preternatural brightness in
the centre of each cheek, leaving the remainder of her face lily-white
as before.

'Elfride,' said Knight, rather in his old