When dinner-time came, he ate something
in his aunt's room, feeling that a tete-a-tete
meal with Miss Pomeroy might not be agreeable
to her under the circumstances; but as
soon as it was over, he descended to the
parlour. He found her demeanour very
different to what it had been on the previous
evening. She held out her hand, and was
the first to speak.

"You are going back to Mortlands
tomorrow, are you not?"

"Yes, I am; but I cannot understand
not having a telegram— nor any notice
having been taken of my message. The
early post, however, must bring you a letter
from Lady Herriesson."

"No, it will not. Neither letter nor
telegram were sent. I destroyed both."

John looked surprised and annoyed.
After a moment's pause, he said abruptly:

"What was your object, Miss Pomeroy?
You must have known that——"

"To gain a few hours. I could decide
on nothing yesterday. My brain was in a
whirl. The prospect of Sir Andrew's
arriving by the first train made me
desperate. I went out, taking both letter and
message, and told Martha I had done so, but
instead of despatching, I destroyed them."

"You forget that you are placing me in
a very awkward position, Miss Pomeroy,"
said John, speaking thickly, and turning
his face away from her, towards the fire.

"Why so? You are going home
tomorrow. It is much better you should tell
them everything yourself. You can then
explain to Sir Andrew how useless it is to
come here, and have a scene. I am resolved
not to return to Mortlands."

"You will remain here, then, if they
consent to it?"

"No. I'm going to London."

"To London? What! Who are you
going to there?"

"I shall go and train for a hospital-nurse:
it is what I am fitted for. I am
strong, and haven't sensitive nerves
though I have a sensitive pride. I won't
try service again, and subject myself to
— well, no matter. But I believe I can bear
a good deal in other ways, and, at all events,
I mean to try."

"Oh! Miss Pomeroy," exclaimed John.
"Pray think better of this. At all events,
whatever you may do by-and-bye, pray
remain here a little time. Your presence
here at this moment is valuable— it is,
indeed. I cannot bear to leave my poor
aunt solely to the charge of Martha. I
must return to my parish work, and it is
quite uncertain whether I may be able to
come back here just at present. Will you
refuse to do a kind action, and take my
place in the sick-room while I am away?"

"I am a stranger to Mrs. Hicks. I
should be no sort of comfort to her."

"Indeed you would. She has expressed
a great desire for it herself. Martha is an
excellent old soul, but a younger face is
cheering in a sick-room. If you are bent on
hospital training, Miss Pomeroy, try and
think it is beginning here."

Maud hesitated. "If I can really be of
use, why I will stay for a few days— until
your return; but, if so, you must keep Sir
Andrew away. . . . When do you think you
shall be back?"

He got up, and began nervously poking
at the fire, which was quite uncalled for,
inasmuch as it was burning brightly; but
by this device he turned his back to Maud,
and while he shivered a fine block of coal to
atoms, he said, with a great effort:

"It— it— shall depend upon you, Miss
Pomeroy."

"Upon me? I don't understand you. If
your aunt remains ill, you will return as
soon as you can, I suppose?"

"I could— I might— perhaps, be back on
Monday— if you would say but one word
— if you would say that my presence here is
not— not unwelcome to you."

Did she understand aright? A flush of
angry surprise suffused her face. Had he
brought her here for this? She had
resented his pursuit; she had felt bitterly
towards him for destroying her short-lived
day-dream; but she had all along looked
up to him as the faithful, uncompromising
man of God—the apostle of duty. Was he,
after all, no better than other men? Had
he tracked her, and driven her from
Beckworth for this? No; she discarded that
unworthy doubt. But his words implied
but too plainly that he wished to take
advantage of her position, now, to urge a
suit which he had never dared to urge
before. It put all her woman's nature
upon the defensive. She sat there in
consternation, unable to utter a word, but
feeling very angry. He turned, and took
her hand: she withdrew it quickly. He
saw the wrathful look in her eyes, and said,
in a broken voice:

"Forgive my presumption, Miss Pomeroy.
But the gulf that has divided us hitherto
no longer seemed so impassable. You have
fled from a life of luxury, and have
embraced a life of work. The drop to being
the wife of a poor curate no longer seemed