sed to you."

A great wave of crimson suddenly passed over Enid's pallid cheeks and
brow. She raised a pair of startled eyes to the Rector's' face, and then
said quickly--

"Did she tell you?"

"No, Miss Vane, she did not."

"Then will you promise me," said Enid, with sudden earnestness, "never
to ask her again?"

"How can I do that? It may be my duty to ask her for her soul's sake;
you would be the last to counsel me to be silent then."

"Oh, but you do not understand! I know now--I know what is weighing on
Sabina Meldreth's mind; and I have forgiven her."

"It was a wrong done to you?"

"Yes--to me."

"And to no one else?" Enid's head drooped.

"I don't know--I can't tell. I must think it over."

"Yes--think and pray," said the Rector gravely but tenderly; "and
remember that truth should always prevail."

"I know--I believe it; but it would do more harm than good."

"Miss Vane, if I am indiscreet, I trust you will pardon me. If by any
chance this confession has reference to the death of your father, Mr.
Sydney Vane, it is your duty to make it known, at any cost to your own
feelings."

The girl looked up with an expression of relief.

"It does not bear on that subject at all, Mr. Evandale."

"I am glad. You will forgive me for alluding to it? A wild fancy crossed
my mind that it had something to do with that."

"I shall never forget your kindness," said Enid gratefully.

"And if you are in perplexity--in any trouble--will you trust me to do
all for you that is in my power? If you ever want help, you will
remember that I am ready--ready for all--all that you might require----"

He never finished his speech, which was perhaps fortunate for him. With
Enid's soft eyes, slightly distressed and appealing in expression,
looking straight into his own, with the sight before him of her pale,
wistful face, the lovely lips which had fallen into so pathetic a curve
of weariness and sorrow, how could the Rector be expected to preserve
his self-possession? His thoughts and his words became confused; he did
not quite know what he was saying, nor whether she heard and understood
him aright. He was glad to remember afterwards that the expression of
her countenance did not change; he brought neither alarm nor
astonishment into her eyes; there were only gentle gratitude and a kind
of hopelessness, the meaning of which he could not fathom, in the girl's
still raised listening face. But at that very moment a knock ca