ne
feeling and quick perception. Love and ambition had pointed the same
road, and the hero, being, as it seemed, without guile, had convinced
her that she might believe every word that he spoke and trust everything
that he did. She had never contemplated any sacrifice before marriage,
and, indeed, when it came, the consummation of their worship proved no
sacrifice to her, but an added joy. Less than many a married woman had
she mourned the surrender, for in her eyes it made all things complete
between them and bound them inseparably with the golden links of love
and honour.

When, therefore, upon this perfect union, sinister light from without
had broken, she felt it no great thing to ask Raymond that their
betrothal should be known. Reason and justice demanded it. She did not
for an instant suppose that he would hesitate, but rather expected him
to blame his own blindness in delay. But finding he desired further
postponement, she was struck with consternation that rose to wrath; and
when he persisted, she became alarmed and now only considered what best
she might do for her own sake. Her work suffered and her friends
perceived that all was not well with her. With the shortening days and
bad weather, the meetings with Raymond became more difficult to pursue
and she saw less of him. They had patched their quarrel and were
friendly enough, but the perfect understanding had departed. They
preserved a common ground and she did not mention subjects likely to
annoy him. He appeared to be working steadily, seldom came into the
shops and was more reserved to everybody in the Mill.

Sabina had not yet spoken to her mother, though many times tempted to do
so. Her loyalty proved strong in the time of trial; but the greater the
strain on herself, the greater the strain on her love for the man. She
told herself that no such cruel imposition should have been placed upon
her; and she could not fail closely to question the need for it. Why did
Raymond demand continued silence even in the face of offences put upon
her by her neighbours? How could he endure to hear that people had been
rude to her, and uttered coarse jests in her hearing aimed only at her
ear? Would a man who loved her, as she deserved to be loved, suffer
this? Then fear grew. With her he was always kind--kind and considerate
in every matter but the vital matter. Yet there were differences. The
future, in which he had delighted to revel, bored him now, and when she
spo