oving whom there ought to be no
difficulty. But when she had been repeating those lessons to herself,
Hugh Stanbury had not been in the house. Now he was there;--and what
must be her answer if he should whisper that word of love? She had an
idea that it would be treason in her to disown the love she felt, if
questioned concerning her heart by the man to whom it had been given.

They all went to church on the Sunday morning, and up to that time
Nora had not been a moment alone with the man. It had been decided
that they should dine early, and then ramble out, when the evening
would be less hot than the day had been, to a spot called Niddon
Park. This was nearly three miles from Nuncombe, and was a beautiful
wild slope of ground, full of ancient, blighted, blasted, but still
half-living oaks,--oaks that still brought forth leaves,--overlooking
a bend of the river Teign. Park, in the usual sense of the word,
there was none, nor did they who lived round Nuncombe Putney know
whether Niddon Park had ever been enclosed. But of all the spots in
that lovely neighbourhood, Priscilla Stanbury swore that it was the
loveliest; and, as it had never yet been seen by Mrs. Trevelyan or
her sister, it was determined that they would walk there on this
August afternoon. There were four of them,--and, as was natural, they
fell into parties of two and two. But Priscilla walked with Nora, and
Hugh Stanbury walked with his friend's wife. Nora was talkative, but
demure in her manner, and speaking now and again as though she were
giving words and not thoughts. She felt that there was something to
hide, and was suffering from disappointment that their party should
not have been otherwise divided. Had Hugh spoken to her and asked her
to be his wife, she could not have accepted him, because she knew
that they were both poor, and that she was not fit to keep a poor
man's house. She had declared to herself most plainly that that must
be her course;--but yet she was disappointed, and talked on with the
knowledge that she had something to conceal.

[Illustration: Niddon Park.]

When they were seated beneath an old riven, withered oak, looking
down upon the river, they were still divided in the same way. In
seating herself she had been very anxious not to disarrange that
arrangement,--almost equally anxious not to seem to adhere to it
with any special purpose. She was very careful that there should be
nothing seen in her manner that was in any