ay have worn when he turned into the chapel where the Red
Comyn lay, growling, "_I_ mak sicker."

None of the party were much disposed for conversation; for even Mr.
Fullarton did not feel equal to "improving the occasion" just then.
Cecil broke the silence at last: it was where the road was so narrow
that only two could walk abreast: Royston never left her bridle-rein.
"You must fancy that I have thanked you; I can not do so properly now.
It is strange, though, that you should have come up so very opportunely.
Was it a presentiment that made you follow us?"

The answer was so low that she had almost to guess at it from the motion
of his lips, "Have you forgotten Napoleon's last rallying-cry, '_Qui
m'aime me suit?_'" No wonder that his pulse would throb exultantly as he
saw the bright, beautiful blush that swept over his companion's cheek
and brow! They had almost reached home when he spoke again, "You would
have been liberal in your promises twenty minutes ago if I had not
stopped you, Miss Tresilyan. I _should_ like to have some memorial of
to-day. Very childish, is it not? Will you give me _this_? I deserve
something for saving that pretty parasol." He touched the glove she had
just drawn off--a light riding-gauntlet, fancifully cut, and embroidered
with silk. Cecil hesitated, though she would have been loth to refuse
him any thing just then. She felt, as most proud, sensitive women feel
the first time they are asked for what may be interpreted into a _gage
d'amour_. The tribute may be nominal, and the suzerain may be lenient
indeed, but none the less does it establish vassalage.

Royston interpreted her reluctance aright, and went on with an
earnestness very unusual with him: for once it was honest and true.
"Pray trust me. The moment I cease to value that _souvenir_ as it
deserves, on my honor I will return it."

He was fated to triumph all through that day. When Cecil was alone she
put something away with a very unnecessary carefulness, for surely
nothing can be more valueless than a glove that has lost its mate.

CHAPTER XIII.

I am almost ashamed to confess how deeply the scene she had witnessed
affected Cecil Tresilyan. The exhibition of Keene's fierce temper ought
certainly to have warned, if it did not disgust her. She could only
think--"It was for my sake that he was so angry, and he yielded to my
first word."

There is rather a heavy run just now against the "physical force"
doctrine. It see