o London was suddenly loathsome to him. The clear, physical
healthfulness of his North-country home was triumphant, for the
moment, over that other passion, which seemed to him then weak and
artificial. It seemed to him also, looking down into Lady May's
fresh, thoughtful face, that she was somehow in accord with these
surroundings,--that she was, indeed, the link, the safeguard which
should bind him to them, the good influence which should keep him fit
to breathe God's pure air, and to keep himself, as he had ever striven
to, _sans peur et sans reproche_. Paul was no sentimentalist, in the
idle and common sense of the word. In his attitude to every-day
life, he was essentially practical, sometimes perhaps a little too
practical. But he was capable of strong feeling, and it came then with
a rush. He leant over towards Lady May, and laid his hand upon her
saddle.

"You are very kind and sympathetic," he said softly. "You are always
kind."

She looked up at him, pleased, and with a soft look in her deep grey
eyes. "You do not give me very much opportunity," she said quietly.
"At one time you used to tell me all your troubles; do you remember?"

"Yes! I remember," he answered, almost in a whisper, for they were
riding up a grass-grown avenue,--a back way to the Abbey,--and their
horses' hoofs sank noiselessly into the soft turf. "Sometimes I have
dared to hope that those days may come again."

She was silent, and her head was turned away lest he might see the
tears trembling in her eyes. So they rode on for a moment or two,
walking their horses in the dim twilight; she in the shadow of the
grey wall and the overhanging trees, and he very close to her, with
his hand still upon her saddle and his reins loose in his hand.

"If ever they did, if ever I was so fortunate," he went on in a low
tone, "you would find your office no sinecure. I have troubles, or
rather, one trouble, and a great one, May."

She looked at him for a moment, her eyes full of sympathy. She dimly
remembered the time when strange stories were current in the county of
Martin de Vaux, and their echo had remained for years. It was not for
her to inquire about them, and she never had done so. But that their
burden should have fallen upon Paul; it was hard! Her heart was sore
with the injustice of it. A woman is a swift and censorious judge of
any one who brings trouble upon the man she loves.

He was a little closer to her still; and suddenly the hand