aid, afraid of a woman. He well remembered that he had never
been afraid of Emily Wharton when they had been quite young,--little
more than a boy and girl together. Then he had told her of his love
over and over again, and had found almost a comfortable luxury in
urging her to say a word, which she had never indeed said, but
which probably in those days he still hoped that she would say. And
occasionally he had feigned to be angry with her, and had tempted her
on to little quarrels with a boyish idea that quick reconciliation
would perhaps throw her into his arms. But now it seemed to him that
an age had passed since those days. His love had certainly not faded.
There had never been a moment when that had been on the wing. But now
the azure plumage of his love had become grey as the wings of a dove,
and the gorgeousness of his dreams had sobered into hopes and fears
which were a constant burden to his heart. There was time enough,
still time enough for happiness if she would yield;--and time enough
for the dull pressure of unsatisfied aspirations should she persist
in her refusal.

At last he saw her, almost by accident, and that meeting certainly
was not fit for the purpose of his suit. He called at Stone Buildings
the day after her arrival, and found her at her father's chambers.
She had come there keeping some appointment with him, and certainly
had not expected to meet her lover. He was confused and hardly able
to say a word to account for his presence, but she greeted him with
almost sisterly affection, saying some word of Longbarns and his
family, telling him how Everett, to Sir Alured's great delight, had
been sworn in as a magistrate for the County, and how at the last
hunt meeting John Fletcher had been asked to take the County hounds,
because old Lord Weobly at seventy-five had declared himself to
be unable any longer to ride as a master of hounds ought to ride.
All these things Arthur had of course heard, such news being too
important to be kept long from him; but on none of these subjects
had he much to say. He stuttered and stammered, and quickly went
away;--not, however, before he had promised to come and dine as usual
on the next Sunday, and not without observing that the anniversary of
that fatal day of release had done something to lighten the sombre
load of mourning which the widow had hitherto worn.

Yes;--he would dine there on the Sunday, but how would it be with him
then? Mr. Wharton never went o