ent is not impartial. At any rate, the less we see
of each other at present the better, for I do not wish to appear to be
taking any undue advantage. If we are destined to pass our lives
together, this temporary estrangement will not matter, and if on the
other hand we are doomed to a life-long separation the sooner we begin
the better. It is a hard world, and sometimes (as it does now) my
heart sinks within me as from year to year I struggle on towards a
happiness that ever vanishes when I stretch out my hand to clasp it;
but, if I feel thus, what must you feel who have so much more to bear?
My dearest love, what can I say? I can only say with you, God help
us!"

This letter did not tend to raise Ida's spirits. Evidently her lover
saw that there was another side to the question--the side of duty, and
was too honest to hide it from her. She had said that she would have
nothing to do with Edward Cossey, but she was well aware that the
matter was still an open one. What should she do, what ought she to
do? Abandon her love, desecrate herself and save her father and her
house, or cling to her love and leave the rest to chance? It was a
cruel position, nor did the lapse of time tend to make it less cruel.
Her father went about the place pale and melancholy--all his jovial
manner had vanished beneath the pressure of impending ruin. He treated
her with studious and old-fashioned courtesy, but she could see that
he was bitterly aggrieved by her conduct and that the anxiety of his
position was telling on his health. If this was the case now, what,
she wondered, would happen in the Spring, when steps were actually
taken to sell the place?

One bright cold morning she was walking with her father through the
fields down on the foot-path that led to the church, and it would have
been hard to say which of the two looked the paler or the more
miserable. On the previous day the Squire had seen Mr. Quest and made
as much of an appeal /ad misericordiam/ to him as his pride would
allow, only to find the lawyer very courteous, very regretful, but
hard as adamant. Also that very morning a letter had reached him from
London announcing that the last hope of raising money to meet the
mortgages had failed.

The path ran along towards the road past a line of oaks. Half-way down
this line they came across George, who, with his marking instrument in
his hand, was contemplating some of the trees which it was proposed to
take down.

"What are