e much obliged,' said
Mrs. Haddon.

'Very well,' replied Harry, laughing. 'I'll manage that.'

Mrs. Haddon smiled through her tears, much comforted, and turned her mind
to other things. Within the space of about two minutes she had satisfied
herself that no woman in all the world would make Harry Hardy a better
wife than Christina Shine, and, being convinced, it was manifestly her
duty to help the good cause.

'Won't you stay awhile an' keep me company, Christina?' she asked.
'Harry'll see you home.'

Miss Chris would stay with pleasure, but she couldn't think of troubling
Mr. Hardy, and she said so with a girl's shyness. Mr. Hardy stammered a
little and tried to say that it would be no trouble at all, but the
effort was not a brilliant success considered as a compliment. He longed
to stay, and yet hated and feared to stay. This anomalous frame of mind
was new; it confused and staggered him. He seemed to be swayed by an
external impulse, and resented it with miserable self-deceit. But he
stayed.

Harry did not greatly enrich the conversation during the hour spent in
Mrs. Haddon's kitchen, but he found his eyes drawn to the handsome
profile of Christina Shine, standing out in its soft fairness against the
dark wall like a wonderfully carven cameo. Her hair, turned back in
beautifully flowing lines, helped the queenly suggestion. Harry looked
resolutely away; then he heard her voice, sweet and low, and recollected
that beside himself no man, woman, or child in Waddy was mean enough to
cherish a hard thought of Miss Chris. Beside himself? He turned fiercely,
as if for refuge, to his dislike for her father. His failure to find the
smallest clue to justify his opinion and that of his mother as to the
real merits of the crime at the Silver Stream left him more bitter
towards the searcher, the one man whose words and actions had convicted
Frank. He would not admit his hatred to be unfair or unreasonable, and
his moroseness deepened as time showed him how heavily the disgrace and
sorrow lay upon his mother, although her words were always cheerful and
her faith unconquerable.

The walk home that night was not a pleasant one to Chris. She was
piteously anxious to have him think kindly of her, and this made itself
felt through Harry's roughest mood; then he had an absurd impulse to
throw out his arms and offer her protection and tenderness. Absurd
because, turning towards her, he was compelled to look upwards into her
eyes