family to witness it,
will be sufficient."

It was a bold stroke of fancy in the managing director to put the matter
in such a ridiculously unbusinesslike light, but he counted much on
Rose's ignorance. As for poor Rose herself, she, knew not what to say
or do at first, but when Clearemout heaved a sigh, and, with an
expression of deep sadness on his countenance, rose to take leave, she
allowed a generous impulse to sway her.

"Your answer, then, is--No," said Clearemout, with deep pathos in his
tone.

Now, it chanced that at this critical point in the conversation, Oliver
Trembath, having left the cottage, walked over the grass towards a small
gate, near which the bower stood. He unavoidably heard the question,
and also the quick, earnest reply,--"My answer, Mr Clearemout, is--Yes.
I will meet you this evening on the cliff."

She frankly gave him her hand as she spoke, and he gallantly pressed it
to his lips, an act which took Rose by surprise, and caused her to pull
it away suddenly. She then turned and ran out at the side of the bower
to seek the solitude of her own apartment, while Clearemout left it by
the other side, and stood face to face with the spellbound Oliver.

To say that both gentlemen turned pale as their eyes met would not give
an adequate idea of their appearance. Oliver's heart, as well as his
body, when he heard the question and reply, stood still as if he had
been paralysed. This, then, he thought, was the end of all his hopes--
hopes hardly admitted to himself, and never revealed to Rose, except in
unstudied looks and tones. For a few moments his face grew absolutely
livid, while he glared at his rival.

On the other hand, Mr Clearemout, believing that the whole of his
conversation had been overheard, supposed that he had discovered all his
villainy to one who was thoroughly able, as well as willing, to thwart
him. For a moment he felt an almost irresistible impulse to spring on
and slay his enemy; his face became dark with suppressed emotion; and it
is quite possible that in the fury of his disappointed malice he might
have attempted violence,--had not Oliver spoken. His voice was husky as
he said,--"Chance, sir--unfortunate, miserable chance--led me to
overhear the last few words that passed between you and--"

He paused, unable to say more. Instantly the truth flashed across
Clearemout's quick mind. He drew himself up boldly, and the blood
returned to his face as he replied,--