en truth. She was positive her
mistress did want to see him. Polly, also, with a maiden's tender guile,
desired to bring them together for once, though it were for the last
time, and for no good on earth. She had been about to confide to him
her young mistress's position toward Lord Laxley, when his sharp
interrogation stopped her. Shrinking from absolute invention, she
remarked that of course she could not exactly remember Miss Rose's
words; which seemed indeed too much to expect of her.

'She will see me to-night?' said Evan.

'I don't know about to-night,' Polly replied.

'Go to her instantly. Tell her I am ready. I will be at the West
park-gates. This is why you wrote, Polly? Why did you lose time? Don't
delay, my good girl! Come!'

Evan had opened the door. He would not allow Polly an instant for
expostulation; but drew her out, saying, 'You will attend to the gates
yourself. Or come and tell me the day, if she appoints another.'

Polly made a final effort to escape from the pit she was being pushed
into.

'Mr. Harrington! it wasn't to tell you this I wrote.

Miss Rose is engaged, sir.'

'I understand,' said Evan, hoarsely, scarcely feeling it, as is the case
with men who are shot through the heart.

Ten minutes later he was on horseback by the Fallow field gates, with
the tidings shrieking through his frame. The night was still, and
stiller in the pauses of the nightingales. He sat there, neither
thinking of them nor reproached in his manhood for the tears that rolled
down his cheeks. Presently his horse's ears pricked, and the animal gave
a low neigh. Evan's eyes fixed harder on the length of gravel leading
to the house. There was no sign, no figure. Out from the smooth grass of
the lane a couple of horsemen issued, and came straight to the gates. He
heard nothing till one spoke. It was a familiar voice.

'By Jove, Ferdy, here is the fellow, and we've been all the way to
Lymport!'

Evan started from his trance.

'It 's you, Harrington?'

'Yes, Harry.'

'Sir!' exclaimed that youth, evidently flushed with wine, 'what the
devil do you mean by addressing me by my Christian name?'

Laxley pushed his horse's head in front of Harry. In a manner apparently
somewhat improved by his new dignity, he said: 'We have ridden to
Lymport to speak to you, sir. Favour me by moving a little ahead of the
lodge.'

Evan bowed, and moved beside him a short way down the lane, Harry
following.

'The purport of my v