my old playmate was prettier than I had ever suspected--a
strongly-built woman, upright and of a fine, graceful figure.

"Don't beat about the bush," John Turner had advised, and I remembered
his words now.

"Isabella," I said, awkwardly enough, as I stirred the dead leaves
with my whip, "Isabella, do you know the terms of my father's will?"

She did not answer at once, and, glancing in her direction, I saw
that she had flushed like a schoolgirl.

[Illustration: "ISABELLA," I SAID, AWKWARDLY ENOUGH, AS I STIRRED THE
DEAD LEAVES WITH MY WHIP, "ISABELLA, DO YOU KNOW THE TERMS OF MY
FATHER'S WILL?" SHE DID NOT ANSWER AT ONCE, AND, GLANCING IN HER
DIRECTION, I SAW THAT SHE HAD FLUSHED LIKE A SCHOOLGIRL.]

"Yes," she answered at length.

"I am penniless unless you marry me."

"Yes--I know."

Her voice was quiet and composed. Isabella was younger than I, but in
her presence I always felt myself her inferior and junior, as, no
doubt, I had always been in mind though not in years.

"You have always been my enemy, Isabella."

"Why should I be that?" she asked.

"I suppose it is on account of the squire's will."

"I care nothing for that."

"Then, if you are not my enemy, if you do not hate me--I do not
recollect doing you an injury--if you do not hate me, why have you
poisoned Lucille's mind against me and made Alphonse distrust me? Why
did you encourage Devar, whom you knew to be my enemy?"

"So you have ridden over in order to bring these charges against me,"
answered Isabella, in her coldest voice; "and you came at a time when
you knew you would find me alone, so as to do it the more
effectually."

"I am letting you know that I am aware that you dislike me, and want
to be told why. Do you remember long ago at the gate over there
leading to Drake's Spinney? It was the first time you had put your
hair up and had a long dress on. I was a clumsy oaf and did not know
that those things made such a difference. I gave you a push as you
were climbing over, and you fell."

"Yes," said Isabella; "I remember."

"You hurt yourself, and cried, and said you hated me then. And I
believe you did, for you have never been the same since. That was
fourteen years ago, Isabella--my first year at Cambridge. You were
eighteen then."

"Yes," answered Isabella, in a chilly voice. "You have all your dates
very correct, and a simple addition sum will tell you that I am
thirty-two now--a middle-aged woman, whose hair is turning g