at road does not take to Bolton Hall."

"Certainly not," said George, following the direction of her finger.
"Bolton lies to the right. That road takes to the sea-coast by Otterbury
and Stanhope."

"I thought so," said Kate. "How unfortunate! He cannot know; but,
indeed, how should he?"

"Who cannot know? and what? You speak in riddles, Mistress. And how pale
you are! Are you ill?"

"No, not ill, Sir," faltered Kate; "but you see me much discomposed. My
cousin Charlton died this day; and the news met me at the very door."
She could say no more.

Mr. Neville, on hearing this news, began to make many excuses for having
inadvertently intruded himself upon her on such a day; but, in the midst
of his apologies, she suddenly looked him full in the face, and said,
with nervous abruptness,--

"You _talk_ like a _preux chevalier_. I wonder whether you would ride
five or six miles to do me a service."

"Ay, a thousand!" said the young man, glowing with pleasure. "What is to
do?"

Kate pointed through the window.

"You see that gentleman on horseback. Well, I happen to know that he is
leaving the country; he thinks that he--that I--that Mr. Charlton has
many years to live. He must be told Mr. Charlton is dead, and his
presence is required at Bolton Hall. I _should_ like somebody to gallop
after him, and give him this letter; but my own horse is tired, and I am
tired; and, to be frank, there is a little coolness between the
gentleman himself and me. Oh, I wish him no ill, but really I am not
upon terms--I do not feel complaisant enough to carry a letter after
him; yet I do feel that he _must_ have it. Do not _you_ think it would
be malicious and unworthy in me to keep the news from him, when I know
it is so?"

Young Neville smiled.

"Nay, Mistress, why so many words? Give me your letter, and I will soon
overtake the gentleman: he seems in no great hurry."

Kate thanked him, and made a polite apology for giving him so much
trouble, and handed him the letter. When it came to that, she held it
out to him rather irresolutely; but he took it promptly, and bowed low,
after the fashion of the day. She curtsied; he marched off with
alacrity. She sat down again, and put her head in her hand to think it
all over, and a chill thought ran through her. Was her conduct wise?
What would Griffith think at her employing his rival? Would he not infer
Neville had entered her service in more senses than one? Perhaps he
would throw the