d to the tact of this remark: it was
so distinctly what he should have said.

How delicate, she thought, must be his understanding of her, that he
should have spoken so!

"I was glad to stay," she answered, in a low voice. "I--enjoyed it,
too."

"They have very little in their lives," he said, and added, with a
characteristic touch, "I do not mean to say that your coming would not
be an event in any household."

She laughed with him, softly, at this sally.

"Not to speak of the visit you are making them," she replied.

"Oh, I'm one of the family," he said; "I come and go. Jabe's is my
country house, when I can't stand the city any longer."

She saw that he did not intend to tell her why he had left Ripton on
this occasion. There fell another silence. They were like prisoners,
and each strove to explore the bounds of their captivity: each sought
a lawful ground of communication. Victoria suddenly remembered--with an
access of indignation--her father's words, "I do not know what sort
he is, but he is not my sort." A while ago, and she had blamed herself
vehemently for coming to Jabe Jenney's, and now the act had suddenly
become sanctified in her sight. She did not analyze her feeling for
Austen, but she was consumed with a fierce desire that justice should be
done him. "He was honourable--honourable!" she found herself repeating
under her breath. No man or woman could look into his face, take his
hand, sit by his side, without feeling that he was as dependable as the
stars in their courses. And her father should know this, must be made
to know it. This man was to be distinguished from opportunists and
self-seekers, from fanatics who strike at random. His chief possession
was a priceless one--a conscience.

As for Austen, it sufficed him for the moment that he had been lifted,
by another seeming caprice of fortune, to a seat of torture the agony
whereof was exquisite. An hour, and only the ceaseless pricking memory
of it would abide. The barriers had risen higher since he had seen her
last, but still he might look into her face and know the radiance of her
presence. Could he only trust himself to guard his tongue! But the heart
on such occasions will cheat language of its meaning.

"What have you been doing since I saw you last?" she asked. "It seems
that you still continue to lead a life of violence."

"Sometimes I wish I did," he answered, with a laugh; "the humdrum
existence of getting practice enough to kee