ady done," said Romayne; "I have a new companion in Mr.
Penrose."

"Penrose?" she repeated. "He is the friend--is he not--of the priest
here, whom they call Father Benwell?"

"Yes."

"I don't like Father Benwell."

"Is that a reason for disliking Mr. Penrose?"

"Yes," she said, boldly, "because he is Father Benwell's friend."

"Indeed, you are mistaken, Miss Eyrecourt. Mr. Penrose only entered
yesterday on his duties as my secretary, and I have already had reason
to think highly of him. Many men, after _that_ experience of me," he
added, speaking more to himself than to her, "might have asked me to
find another secretary."

Stella heard those last words, and looked at him in astonishment. "Were
you angry with Mr. Penrose?" she asked innocently. "Is it possible that
_you_ could speak harshly to any person in your employment?"

Romayne smiled. "It was not what I said," he answered. "I am subject to
attacks--to sudden attacks of illness. I am sorry I alarmed Mr. Penrose
by letting him see me under those circumstances."

She looked at him; hesitated; and looked away again. "Would you be angry
with me if I confessed something?" she said timidly.

"It is impossible I can be angry with you!"

"Mr. Romayne, I think I have seen what your secretary saw. I know how
you suffer, and how patiently you bear it."

"You!" he exclaimed.

"I saw you with your friend, when you came on board the steamboat at
Boulogne. Oh, no, you never noticed me! You never knew how I pitied you.
And afterward, when you moved away by yourself, and stood by the place
in which the engines work--you are sure you won't think the worse of me,
if I tell it?"

"No! no!"

"Your face frightened me--I can't describe it--I went to your friend and
took it on myself to say that you wanted him. It was an impulse--I meant
well."

"I am sure you meant well." As he spoke, his face darkened a little,
betraying a momentary feeling of distrust. Had she put indiscreet
questions to his traveling companion; and had the Major, under the
persuasive influence of her beauty, been weak enough to answer them?
"Did you speak to my friend?" he asked.

"Only when I told him that he had better go to you. And I think I said
afterward I was afraid you were very ill. We were in the confusion of
arriving at Folkestone--and, even if I had thought it right to say more,
there was no opportunity."

Romayne felt ashamed of the suspicion by which he had wronged her. "You
hav