r other. There is nothing for it but to let her alone."

"I am rather anxious about her somehow, Syb."

"And now we shall have you in the blues too! For sheer pity bear up, and
don't let me be the only one--and I suppose I have feelings too. It
really is disgusting, every one giving way but me."

"I think I _must_ go and see what Leo is doing?"

"I think you _must_ do nothing of the kind. You will make nothing of
her. I've tried. She was here just now."

"And did you not notice anything? It is not only her face; but her
voice, her manner----"

"I told her she looked woebegone, and that it was no good. She frets
about things that are no business of hers, if you must know," owned
Sybil, reluctantly. "She has taken it into her head that Maud--that she
and Paul aren't suited to each other, and has let the idea run away
with her. I suppose I was stupid myself, not to put a veto upon it
flat,--but the truth is I do think they are an ill-assorted couple, and
can't make out how they ever came to take to each other."

"I once thought it was something else on Leo's part," said Sue, in
rather a low voice. "If it is only that, I think, I hope, we are all
mistaken."

"We?" cried Sybil, struck by the word.

"Because I think as you do," said Sue, quietly.

* * * * *

The short light of a November day was beginning to fade when Leonore,
after a minute's cautious listening and watching from above, stole
downstairs equipped to go out, and safely reached the garden-door
without encountering any one. She was in the act of unlocking it, when
Paul appeared.

"You are going out?" said he, mechanically.

"No, I am not," said she--and passed out before his eyes.

For a few minutes she ran aimlessly hither and thither, crossing and
recrossing her steps, while from time to time casting furtive glances at
the windows of the house, as though to see if she were being watched or
not--but satisfied apparently upon this point, she made a sudden dart
for the woods beyond, and was almost immediately lost to view.

Yet here again she hesitated, for the paths were numerous.

There was the one she had first trodden on her return to the Abbey three
years before. She recalled the beauty, the wild freshness of that
twilight hour. It had so exhilarated her that while desirous of walking
soberly as befitted the occasion, she had longed to run! Her first very
real but transient sorrow had worn off, and there was n