Honham property would, as he believed, pass to his
heir, who, unless he had made a will, which was not probable, would be
his father, old Mr. Cossey, the banker, from whom Mr. de la Molle well
knew he had little mercy to expect. This was serious enough, and still
more serious was it that all the bright prospects in which he had for
some days been basking of the re-establishment of his family upon a
securer basis than it had occupied for generations would vanish like a
vision. He was not more worldly-minded than are other men, but he did
fondly cherish a natural desire to see the family fortunes once more
in the ascendant. The projected marriage between his daughter and
Edward Cossey would have brought this about most fully, and however
much he might in his secret heart distrust the man himself, and doubt
whether the match was really acceptable to Ida, he could not view its
collapse with indifference. While they were still talking the
dressing-bell rang, and Harold rose to go.

"Stop and dine, won't you, Quaritch?" said the Squire.

Harold hesitated and looked at Ida. She made no movement, but her eyes
said "stay," and he sighed and yielded. Dinner was rather a melancholy
feast, for the Squire was preoccupied with his own thoughts, and Ida
had not much to say. So far as the Colonel was concerned, the
recollection of the tragedy he had witnessed that afternoon, and of
all the dreadful details with which it was accompanied, was not
conducive to appetite.

As soon as dinner was over the Squire announced that he should walk
into Boisingham to inquire how the wounded man was getting on. Shortly
afterwards he started, leaving his daughter and Harold alone.

They went into the drawing-room and talked about indifferent things.
No word of love passed between them; no word, even, that could bear an
affectionate significance, and yet every sentence which passed their
lips carried a message with it, and was as heavy with unuttered
tenderness as a laden bee with honey. For they loved each other
dearly, and deep love is a thing that can hardly be concealed by
lovers from each other.

It was happiness for him merely to sit beside her and hear her speak,
to watch the changes of her face and the lamplight playing upon her
hair, and it was happiness for her to know that he was sitting there
and watching. For the most beautiful aspect of true affection is its
accompanying sense of perfect companionship and rest. It is a sense
which