ntence was unfinished.

'But you have tried to persuade me, mother dear,' pursued the gentle
voice. 'You would not do so if you did not think it for my good.'

Something shot painfully through Mrs. Waltham's heart.

'I am sure I have thought so, Adela; really I have thought so. I know
there are objections, but no marriage is in every way perfect. I feel so
sure of his character--I mean of his character in a worldly sense.
And you might do so much to--to show him the true way, might you not,
darling? I'm sure his heart is good.'

Mrs. Waltham also was speaking with less confidence than on former
occasions. She cast side glances at her daughter's colourless face.

'Mother, may I marry without feeling that--that I love him?'

The face was flushed now for a moment. Adela had never spoken that word
to anyone; even to Letty she had scarcely murmured it. The effect upon
her of hearing it from her own lips was mysterious, awful; the sound
did not die with her voice, but trembled in subtle harmonies along the
chords of her being.

Her mother took the shaken form and drew it to her bosom.

'If he is your husband, darling, you will find that love grows. It is
always so. Have no fear. On his side there is not only love; he respects
you deeply; he has told me so.'

'And you encourage me to accept him, mother? It is your desire? I am
your child, and you can wish nothing that is not for my good. Guide
me, mother. It is so hard to judge for myself. You shall decide for me,
indeed you shall.'

The mother's heart was wrung. For a moment she strove to speak the
very truth, to utter a word about that love which Adela was resolutely
excluding. But the temptation to accept this unhoped surrender proved
too strong. She sobbed her answer.

'Yes, I do wish it, Adela. You will find that I--that I was not wrong.'

'Then if he asks me, I will marry him.'

As those words were spoken Mutimer issued from the Manor gates,
uncertain whether to go his usual way down to the works or to pay a
visit to Mrs. Waltham. The latter purpose prevailed.

The evening before, Mr. Willis Rodman had called at the Manor shortly
after dinner. He found Mutimer smoking, with coffee at his side, and
was speedily making himself comfortable in the same way. Then he drew
a newspaper from his pocket. 'Have you seen the "Belwick Chronicle" of
to-day?' he inquired.

'Why the deuce should I read such a paper?' exclaimed Richard, with
good-humoured surprise. He w