ared up. Of course, she has heard
everything, and she will look upon me as----" And then Paul set his
teeth together and his eyes flashed with anger.

These thoughts had scarcely passed through his mind when his heart gave
a sudden leap. Coming towards him was the girl of whom he had been
thinking, and she was alone! Evidently she was on another visit to the
Wilsons'; no doubt, too, she was carrying out her purpose of winning
voters from him. Almost without thinking he determined to speak to her.

There was no definite thought in his mind, but it seemed to him as
though he must speak to her and set himself right with her. He felt it
was his right to do so, and that it was her duty to hear.

He lifted his hat on her approach. "I beg your pardon, Miss Bolitho,"
he said, "but may I presume on your kindness a little?"

The girl looked at him in astonishment. Perhaps she was a little angry
too, for the footpath on which he met her was in a somewhat lonely
district.

"I know I'm very rude in stopping you in this way," went on Paul, as
though he divined her feelings, "and I would not have done so had not
the reason seemed to me sufficient. Besides"--and there was a touch of
anger in his voice--"it seems to me that it would not only be generous
on your part if you would, but just."

As he spoke she could not help reflecting on the change that had come
over him since he first spoke to her on the night following his release
from prison. Then he was rude, almost truculent; now, even while he
seemed angry, his demeanour suggested a refinement of feeling which did
not manifest itself then.

"Of course, you know who I am," he went on. "I am Paul Stepaside, and
I am your father's opponent in this political contest."

"Is it about the election that you wish to speak to me?" she asked.

"Yes, and no," replied Paul. "Perhaps the contest may be called the
occasion of my asking you to speak with me, but the reason lies deeper.
I am sure you do not wish to be unjust?"

"I think," she replied, "if you wish to say anything about the
election, that you had better seek an interview with my father. He
will be in Brunford to-morrow."

"It's not to your father that I wish to speak," he replied.

"I am altogether at a loss," said Mary Bolitho, "to know what there can
be that you wish to discuss with me."

He could not mistake the tones in which she spoke. He knew,
instinctively, that she did not regard him as belonging