strange matter. Yet, though looking at them, it is at
their arms or chests he looks, rather than at their faces.

Portia (who had stopped when Fabian had) now turns a little to one side
and plucks a flower lazily from a neighboring shrub, and sighs a little
as if weary, and as if she would gladly be at home.

At this, Fabian, who is quick to notice anything concerning her, rouses
himself from his prolonged stare at Gregory, and, noting the instability
of the old man's gait, says, suddenly, with his dark gaze full upon him:

"Again!"

His tone this time is all contempt; no kindliness mingles with it. The
old man seems to wither beneath it, and puts out his hands with a
gesture suggestive of deprecation. Fabian, taking no notice of it, walks
away from him, Portia gladly following.

Then the secretary's face changes. Standing in the centre of the
pathway, he looks after their retreating figures with a half-drunken
scrutiny, full of malice.

"Ay," he says, bitterly, beneath his breath, "as a dog I am in his
sight! So he has destroyed his only hope this many a time!"

His head sinks into its old position on his chest, and with a muttered
curse he continues his way.

Just as Portia ascends the stone steps that lead to the house, Fabian,
by a gentle touch, detains her.

"Remember always this," he said slowly and with an attempt at calmness
that is infinitely sad, "that I do not blame you."

Tears spring to her eyes. She is at least generous, and now a great
longing to be able to believe in him, to be able to assure him of her
unbounded faith in his honor possesses her. But, alas! faith is neither
to be invoked nor purchased, and to lie to him, and tell him a soothing
falsehood against her conscience would be worse than useless. The tears
having gathered, two of them roll slowly down her cheeks. She turns
hastily aside. Catching her hand he holds it for a short moment in his
own.

"They at least are mine," he says, meaning the tears, his voice deeply
agitated, and then she draws her hand from his, and an instant later, is
lost to sight.

CHAPTER IX.

"Young hearts, bright eyes, and rosy lips are there,
And fairy steps, and light and laughing voices,
Ringing like welcome music through the air--
A sound at which the untroubled heart rejoices."
--HON. MRS. NORTON.

PORTIA, dressed in _merveilleux_ of a cream shade, with a soft