velvet and lace, and her boldly-outlined
face, passed on, exhibiting their owner as one fixed for ever above the
level of her companion--socially by her early breeding, and materially by
her higher cushion.

Barnet decided to allow them a proper time to themselves, and then stroll
down to the shore and drive them home. After lingering on at the house
for another hour he started with this intention. A few hundred yards
below 'Chateau Ringdale' stood the cottage in which the late lieutenant's
daughter had her lodging. Barnet had not been so far that way for a long
time, and as he approached the forbidden ground a curious warmth passed
into him, which led him to perceive that, unless he were careful, he
might have to fight the battle with himself about Lucy over again. A
tenth of his present excuse would, however, have justified him in
travelling by that road to-day.

He came opposite the dwelling, and turned his eyes for a momentary glance
into the little garden that stretched from the palings to the door. Lucy
was in the enclosure; she was walking and stooping to gather some
flowers, possibly for the purpose of painting them, for she moved about
quickly, as if anxious to save time. She did not see him; he might have
passed unnoticed; but a sensation which was not in strict unison with his
previous sentiments that day led him to pause in his walk and watch her.
She went nimbly round and round the beds of anemones, tulips, jonquils,
polyanthuses, and other old-fashioned flowers, looking a very charming
figure in her half-mourning bonnet, and with an incomplete nosegay in her
left hand. Raising herself to pull down a lilac blossom she observed
him.

'Mr. Barnet!' she said, innocently smiling. 'Why, I have been thinking
of you many times since Mrs. Barnet went by in the pony-carriage, and now
here you are!'

'Yes, Lucy,' he said.

Then she seemed to recall particulars of their last meeting, and he
believed that she flushed, though it might have been only the fancy of
his own supersensitivenesss.

'I am going to the harbour,' he added.

'Are you?' Lucy remarked simply. 'A great many people begin to go there
now the summer is drawing on.'

Her face had come more into his view as she spoke, and he noticed how
much thinner and paler it was than when he had seen it last. 'Lucy, how
weary you look! tell me, can I help you?' he was going to cry out.--'If I
do,' he thought, 'it will be the ruin of us both!' He