ve come out in those thin shoes through the snow,
Jane. You will catch cold."

"I wish I could," she answered defiantly, "I wish that I could catch
such a cold as would kill me; then I should be out of my troubles. Let
us go into the summer-house; they will never think of looking for me
there."

"How will you get there?" asked Leonard; "it is a hundred yards away,
and the snow always drifts in that path."

"Oh! never mind the snow," she said.

But Leonard did mind it, and presently he hit upon a solution of the
difficulty. Having first glanced up the drive to see that nobody was
coming, he bent forward and without explanation or excuse put his arms
around Jane, and lifting her as though she were a child, he bore her
down the path which led to the summer-house. She was heavy, but, sooth
to say, he could have wished the journey longer. Presently they were
there, and very gently he laid her on her feet again, kissing her upon
the lips as he did so. Then he took off his overcoat and wrapped it
round her shoulders.

All this while Jane had not spoken. Indeed, the poor girl felt so happy
and so safe in her lover's arms that it seemed to her as though she
never wished to speak, or to do anything for herself again. It was
Leonard who broke the silence.

"You ask me why I left without saying good-bye to you, Jane. It was
because your father has dismissed me from the house and forbidden me to
have any more to do with you."

"Oh, why?" asked the girl, lifting her hands despairingly.

"Can't you guess?" he answered with a bitter laugh.

"Yes, Leonard," she whispered, taking his hand in sympathy.

"Perhaps I had better put it plainly," said Leonard again; "it may
prevent misunderstandings. Your father has dismissed me because _my_
father embezzled all my money. The sins of the father are visited
upon the children, you see. Also he has done this with more than usual
distinctness and alacrity, because he wishes you to marry young Mr.
Cohen, the bullion-broker and the future owner of Outram."

Jane shivered.

"I know, I know," she said, "and oh! Leonard, I hate him!"

"Then perhaps it will be as well not to marry him," he answered.

"I would rather die first," she said with conviction.

"Unfortunately one can't always die when it happens to be convenient,
Jane."

"Oh! Leonard, don't be horrid," she said, beginning to cry. "Where are
you going, and what shall I do?"

"To the bad probably," he answered. "At least it