g the searching inquiries of his mother and Mrs.
Porter, as to how, when, where, and in whose presence the
accident had happened. As soon as the ladies rose, he left his
father and Mr. Porter over their old port and politics, and went
out in the twilight into the garden, burthened with the weight of
sweet thought. He felt that he had something to do--to set
himself quite right with Mary; he must speak somehow, that night,
if possible, or he should not be comfortable or at peace with his
conscience. There were lights in her room. He guessed by the
shadows that she was lying on a couch by the open window, round
which the other ladies were flitting.

Presently lights appeared in the drawing-room; and, as the
shutters were being closed, he saw his mother and Mrs. Porter
come in, and sit down near the fire. Listening intently, he heard
Katie talking in a low voice in the room above, and saw her head
against the light as she sat down close to the window, probably
at the head of the couch where Mary was lying. Should he call to
her? If he did, how could he say what he wanted to say through
her?

A happy thought struck him. He turned to the flowerbeds, hunted
about, and gathered a bunch of heliotrope, hurried up to his
room, took the sprig of heather out of his shooting coat, tied
them together, caught up a reel and line from his table, and went
into the room over Mary's. He threw the window open, and, leaning
out, said gently,

"Katie." No answer. He repeated the name louder. No answer still,
and, leaning out yet further, he saw that the window had been
shut. He lowered the bunch of flowers, and, swinging it backwards
and forward, made it strike the window below--once, twice; at the
third stroke he heard the window open.

"Katie," he whispered again, "is that you?"

"Yes, where are you? What is this?"

"For her," he said, in the same whisper. Katie untied the
flowers, and he waited a few moments, and then again called her
name, and she answered.

"Has she the flowers?" he asked.

"Yes, and she sends you her love, and says you are to go down to
the drawing-room;" and with that the window closed, and he went
down with a lightened conscience into the drawing-room, and,
after joining in the talk by the fire for a few minutes, took a
book, and sat down at the further side of the table. Whether he
ever knew what the book was may be fairly questioned, but to all
appearances he was deep in the perusal of it till the tea a