he General; but it did not much
matter. It was a blustering February afternoon--Cecil long remembered it;
the north wind had strewn the ground with dead branches, and cawing
rooks, on the eve of wedlock, were drifting about incoherently on the
breeze. She was following the course of a brook where the grounds
widened into a wild, brambly park, and looking over her shoulder she
perceived Jack Vavasour some distance off, coming along with rapid
strides as if bent on overtaking her.

Cecil sauntered slowly on, not ill pleased at the opportunity of an
unreserved conversation with Jack. She noticed, with furtive amusement,
that he slackened his pace considerably as he neared her, probably to
give an accidental aspect to the encounter. She turned round with a
contented smile of expectation, and they wandered on together, Cecil
instinctively choosing the most unfrequented and far-off boundary of the
park. It was impossible to keep up long a commonplace conversation, and
they became more and more _distrait_ and nervous, each wishing to
approach one subject, and neither liking to begin. In such a case, it is
always the woman who breaks the ice. An allusion to the war was
sufficient in this instance, and Jack responded so eagerly, she was
confirmed in her impression that he had something to tell her. Without
waiting for further questioning, he plunged into Crimean reminiscences of
Bertie Du Meresq, whom he had seen nearly every day till his death, to
all of which poor Cecil listened with breathless interest, and yet she
_knew_ there was something more to come.

"You know," continued Vavasour, "his watch and things were sent back to
England; but when we cut open his tunic, to see if he was breathing,
something dropped out that he had worn through the action. I kept _that_,
for I thought I would restore it only to the rightful owner."

What intuitive feeling was it that made her wish he would say no more!
Jack was opening his pocket-book, and drew out a piece of folded paper.

"I knew it in a moment," he cried, as a long coil of soft, dark hair
appeared, so closely resembling Cecil's own as fully to justify his
conviction that it was so.

He had expected to see her greatly moved; but the sudden pallor of her
face puzzled him, which sensation was still more intensified when her
large eyes flashed a moment upon him with an expression he never forgot,
and, turning abruptly away, she walked towards the house.

Of all the trouble C