e has no good cause
in England. He is true to our queen. Well--well he talked so interestingly
that I could have listened a whole month--yes, all my life."

"I suppose you could," I said.

"Yes," she continued, "but I could not remain longer from home, and when I
left him he asked me to accept a keepsake which had belonged to his
mother, as a token that there should be no feud between him and me." And
she drew from her bosom a golden heart studded with diamonds and pierced
by a white silver arrow.

"I, of course, accepted it, then we said 'good-by,' and I put Dolcy to a
gallop that she might speedily take me out of temptation."

"Have you ridden to Overhaddon for the purpose of seeing Manners many
times since he gave you the heart?" I queried.

"What would you call 'many times'?" she asked, drooping her head.

"Every day?" I said interrogatively. She nodded. "Yes. But I have seen
him only once since the day when he gave me the heart."

Nothing I could say would do justice to the subject, so I remained silent.

"But you have not yet told me how your father came to know of the golden
heart," I said.

"It was this way: One morning while I was looking at the heart, father
came upon me suddenly before I could conceal it. He asked me to tell him
how I came by the jewel, and in my fright and confusion I could think of
nothing else to say, so I told him you had given it to me. He promised not
to speak to you about the heart, but he did not keep his word. He seemed
pleased."

"Doubtless he was pleased," said I, hoping to lead up to the subject so
near to Sir George's heart, but now farther than ever from mine.

The girl unsuspectingly helped me.

"Father asked if you had spoken upon a subject of great interest to him
and to yourself, and I told him you had not. 'When he does speak,' said
father most kindly, 'I want you to grant his request'--and I will grant
it, Cousin Malcolm." She looked in my face and continued: "I will grant
your request, whatever it may be. You are the dearest friend I have in the
world, and mine is the most loving and lovable father that girl ever had.
It almost breaks my heart when I think of his suffering should he learn of
what I have done--that which I just told to you." She walked beside me
meditatively for a moment and said, "To-morrow I will return Sir John's
gift and I will never see him again."

I felt sure that by to-morrow she would have repented of her repentance;
but I soon disc