is heart was very
heavy in spite of his whistling. A young man does not show his feelings
like a girl.'

'No doubt you are right,' she replied, sighing, and then she turned her
head away, and I could see the old tremulous movement of her hands.
'Ursula,' she said, in a very low voice, 'have you told Mr. Cunliffe
about this?'

'Uncle Max!' I exclaimed, concealing my astonishment at hearing her
mention his name of her own accord. 'No; indeed, he is away from home:
we have not met for the last three weeks. Would you wish me to tell him,
Gladys?'

She pondered over my question, and I could see the curves of her throat
trembling. Her voice was not so clear when she answered me:

'He might have helped us. He is kind and wise, and I trusted him once.
But perhaps it will be hardly safe to tell him: he might insist on Giles
knowing, and then everything would be lost.'

'What do you mean?' I asked hastily. 'Surely Mr. Hamilton ought to know
that his brother is alive.'

'Yes, but not now--not until I have seen him. Ursula, you are very good;
you are my greatest comfort; but indeed you must be guided in this by me.
You do not know Giles as I do. He is beginning to influence you in spite
of yourself. If Giles knows, Etta will know, and then we are lost.'

Her tone troubled me: it was the old keynote of suppressed hopeless
pain: it somehow recalled to me the image of some helpless innocent bird
struggling in a fowler's net. Her eyes looked at me with almost agonised
entreaty.

'If Etta knows, we should be lost,' she repeated drearily.

'She shall not know, then,' I returned, pretending cheerfulness, though
I was inwardly dismayed. 'You and I will watch and wait, Gladys. Do not
be so cast down, dear. Remember it is never so dark as just before the
dawn.'

'No,' she replied, with a faint smile, 'you are right there; but it is
growing dark in earnest, Ursula, and I must go home, or Leah will be
coming in search of me.'

'Very well; I will walk with you,' I replied; and in five minutes more we
had left the cottage.

We walked almost in silence, for who could tell if eaves-droppers might
not lurk in the dark hedgerows? I know this feeling was strong in both
our minds.

At the gate of Gladwyn we kissed each other and parted.

'I am happier, Ursula,' she whispered. 'You must not think I am
ungrateful for the news you have given me, only it has made me restless.'

'Hush! there is some one coming down the shrubbery,' I ret