d sister, and
the solution of the peculiarities upon which he had often meditated.
The form of Helen Trevethlan stole gently into his reverie, not
unwelcome. He was sorry to think she was going away, but at the same
time glad that he was to see her again before she left. He pondered on
the family feud, which was nothing to him--his relationship being with
the Winstons--and gratified himself with the idea that he might
possibly have prepared the way to a reconciliation. So ignorant was he
of the true state of the case. But his thoughts continually reverted
to the dark eyes of Randolph's sister. He was himself on the point of
being called to the bar, having completed his course of preparation,
and he asked himself whether a house and a wife would not be agreeable
possessions.

Meantime his friend went and discovered himself to Mr. Winter. The
lawyer was much annoyed, and looked very grave.

"I will not conceal from you, Mr. Trevethlan, since so I must call
you," he said, after some reflection, "that your story gives me great
dissatisfaction. It is only a blunder, but I wish my old friend
Griffith had consulted me before sanctioning this scheme, and
implicating me in it."

Randolph protested that the blame was imputable solely to himself.

"I know," said the lawyer, "I know all you would say. I am not
attributing any fault to anybody. But I am vexed. I thought Griffith
was more a man of the world. As for the worthy chaplain, parsons are
seldom men of business. But I wish my old friend had confided in me."

"It was my fault he did not," said Randolph.

"In truth," Winter observed, "now I know all this, I am surprised I
did not suspect it before, for you have the family countenance
perfectly, Mr. Trevethlan. I know it well. And so has your sister. It
is wonderful I did not think of it."

The conversation diverged to family affairs, and gloomy enough seemed
the fortunes of the house of Trevethlan. At length Randolph took his
leave, having informed the lawyer of his immediate departure for
Cornwall.

The activity and vigour with which he fulfilled his resolution
diverted his thoughts from the flame which burned hotly within him and
indeed inspired his energy. But, in fact, although he did not know it,
he was nearly desperate. He might have felt his own impatience while
Winter was speaking to him. And as he walked alone through the fields,
on his way back to Hampstead, the consciousness of his passion
revived.

"Sh