in his struggles against the net of
fascination. He had never imagined the extent of the provocation he
gave; and in truth, his habitual manner was such, that it was hard to
distinguish between irony and genuine interest. And now it was too
late! What should he be henceforth to her? What would Stoneborough
and his future be to him? He would, he believed, have taught himself
to acquiesce, had he seen any chance of happiness before her; but the
picture he drew of her prospects justified his misery, at being only
able to goad her on, instead of drawing her back. He was absolutely
amazed at himself. He had spoken only the literal truth, when he said
that he had been unconscious of the true nature of the feelings that
always drew him towards her, though only to assert his independence,
and make experiments by teasing in his ironically courteous way. Not
until the desolate indifference of her tone had incited him to show her
that Henry was not all that remained to her, had he arrived at the
perception that, in the late weeks of anxiety, she had grown into his
heart, and that it was of no use to argue the point with himself, or
think what he would do, the fact was accomplished--his first love was a
direct contradiction to his fixed opinions, he had offended her
irrevocably and made a fool of himself, and she was going away to
dreariness!

At first he had rushed off into the melancholy meadows, among the
sodden hay-cocks still standing among the green growth of grass; but a
shower, increasing the damp forlornness of the ungenial day, made him
turn homewards. When, late in the afternoon, Ethel came into the
schoolroom for some Cocksmoor stores, she found him leaning over his
books on the table. This was his usual place for study; and she did
not at once perceive that the attitude was only assumed on her
entrance, so kneeling in front of her cupboard, she asked, 'What
success?'

'I have not seen him.'

'Oh! I thought I saw you going--'

'Never mind! I mean,' he added with some confusion, 'I wish for a
little peace. I have a horrid headache.'

'You!' exclaimed Ethel; and turning round, she saw him leaning back in
his chair, a defenceless animal without his spectacles, his eyes small
and purpled ringed, his hair tossed about, his spruceness gone. 'I am
sure you are not well,' she said.

'Quite well. Nonsense, I only want quiet.'

'Let me give you some of Aubrey's camphor liniment.'

'Thank you,' submitting t