n't fret or
despair. Oh, no.' He spoke very gently, in a reverie, after his wont,
and he sighed heavily. 'You know 'tis growing late in life with me,
Captain Devereux,' he resumed, 'and I would fain see her united to a
kind and tender partner, for I think she's a fragile little flower. Poor
little Lily! Something, I often think, of her dear mother's delicacy,
and I have always nursed her, you know. She has been a great pet;' and
he stopped suddenly, and walked to the window. 'A great pet. Indeed, if
she could have been spoiled, I should have spoiled her long ago, but she
could not. Ah, no! Sweet little Lily!'

Then quite firmly but gently Parson Walsingham went on:--

'Now, the doctors say she mustn't be agitated, and I can't allow it,
Captain Devereux. I gave her your message--let me see--why 'tis four,
ay, five months ago. I gave it with a good will, for I thought well of
you.'

'And you don't any longer--there, 'tis all out,' broke in Devereux,
fiercely.

'Well, you know her answer; it was not lightly given, nor in haste, and
first and last 'twas quite decided, and I sent it to you under my own
hand.'

'I thought you were a friend to me, Dr. Walsingham, and now I'm sure
you're none,' said the young fellow, in the same bitter tone.

'Ah, Captain Devereux, he can be no friend to you who is a friend to
your faults; and you no friend to yourself if you be an enemy to him
that would tell you of them. Will you like him the worse that would have
you better?'

'We've _all_ faults, Sir; mine are not the worst, and I'll have neither
shrift nor absolution. There's some reason here you won't disclose.'

He was proud, fierce, pale, and looked damnably handsome and wicked.

'She gave _no_ reason, Sir;' answered Dr. Walsingham. No, she gave
none; but, as I understood, she did not love you, and she prayed me to
mention it no more.'

'She gave no reason; but you _know_ the reason,' glared out Devereux.

'Indeed, Sir, I do _not_ know the reason,' answered the rector.

'But you know--you _must_--you _meant_--_you_, at least had heard some
ill of me, and you no longer wish my suit to prosper.'

'I have, indeed, of late, heard _much_ ill of you, Captain Devereux,'
answered Dr. Walsingham, in a very deliberate but melancholy way,
'enough to make me hold you no meet husband for any wife who cared for a
faithful partner, or an honourable and a quiet home.'

'You mean--I know you do--that Palmerstown girl, who has belied me?