her, Thomas?" she asked.

"She seems weak, but I believe she is better. I have been reading to
her."

"Come in, Thomas;--will you not? It is bad for us to stand talking on
the stairs. Dear Thomas, don't let us be so cold to each other." He
had no alternative but to put his arm round her waist and kiss her,
thinking, as he did so, of the mysterious agency which afflicted him.
"Tell me that you love me, Thomas," she said.

"Of course I love you." The question is not a pleasant one when put
by a lady to a gentleman whose affections towards her are not strong,
and it requires a very good actor to produce an efficient answer.

"I hope you do, Thomas. It would be sad, indeed, if you did not. You
are not weary of your Camilla,--are you?"

For a moment there came upon him an idea that he would confess that
he was weary of her, but he found at once that such an effort was
beyond his powers. "How can you ask such a question?" he said.

"Because you do not--come to me." Camilla, as she spoke, laid her
head upon his shoulder, and wept. "And now you have been five minutes
with me and nearly an hour with Bella."

"She wanted me to read to her," said Mr. Gibson;--and he hated
himself thoroughly as he said it.

"And now you want to get away as fast as you can," continued Camilla.

"Because of the morning service," said Mr. Gibson. This was quite
true, and yet he hated himself again for saying it. As Camilla knew
the truth of the last plea, she was obliged to let him go; but she
made him swear before he went that he loved her dearly. "I think it's
all right," she said to herself as he went down the stairs. "I don't
think he'd dare make it wrong. If he does;--o-oh!"

Mr. Gibson, as he walked into Exeter, endeavoured to justify his
own conduct to himself. There was no moment, he declared to himself,
in which he had not endeavoured to do right. Seeing the manner in
which he had been placed among these two young women, both of whom
had fallen in love with him, how could he have saved himself from
vacillation? And by what untoward chance had it come to pass that he
had now learned to dislike so vigorously, almost to hate, the one
with whom he had been for a moment sufficiently infatuated to think
that he loved?

But with all his arguments he did not succeed in justifying to
himself his own conduct, and he hated himself.

CHAPTER LXVI.

OF A QUARTER OF LAMB.

Miss Stanbury, looking out of her parlour window, saw Mr.