introduced by any one who
knew us both, so I had either to break off your acquaintance after that
first conversation, or conduct myself as I have been doing. I think
it's a very hard position. My sisters would call me an immodest girl,
but I don't think it is true. I may perhaps come to feel you as a girl
ought to when she marries, and how else can I tell unless I meet you
and talk with you? And your position is just the same. I don't blame
you for a moment; I think it would be ridiculous to blame you. Yet we
have gone against the ordinary rule, and people would make us suffer
for it--or me, at all events.

Her voice at the close was uncertain. Widdowson looked at her with eyes
of passionate admiration.

'Thank you for saying that--for putting it so well, and so kindly for
me. Let us disregard people, then. Let us go on seeing each other. I
love you with all my soul'--he choked a little at this first utterance
of the solemn word--'and your rules shall be mine. Give me a chance of
winning you. Tell me if I offend you in anything--if there's anything
you dislike in me.'

'Will you cease coming to look for me when I don't know of it?'

'I promise you. I will never come again. And you will meet me a little
oftener?'

'I will see you once every week. But I must still be perfectly free.'

'Perfectly! I will only try to win you as any man may who loves a
woman.'

The tired horse clattered upon the hard highway and clouds gathered for
a night of storm.

CHAPTER VIII

COUSIN EVERARD

As Miss Barfoot's eye fell on the letters brought to her at
breakfast-time, she uttered an exclamation, doubtful in its
significance. Rhoda Nunn, who rarely had a letter from any one, looked
up inquiringly.

'I am greatly mistaken if that isn't my cousin Everard's writing. I
thought so. He is in London.'

Rhoda made no remark.

'Pray read it,' said the other, handing her friend the epistle after
she had gone through it.

The handwriting was remarkably bold, but careful. Punctuation was
strictly attended to, and in places a word had been obliterated with a
circular scrawl which left it still legible.

'DEAR COUSIN MARY,--I hear that you are still active in an original
way, and that civilization is more and more indebted to you. Since my
arrival in London a few weeks ago, I have several times been on the
point of calling at your house, but scruples withheld me. Our last
interview was not quite friendly on your side, you