mpted it.

"You have heard of our election? And what happened?"

He nodded. His mother had kept him informed. He understood Marsham had
been badly hurt. Was it really so desperate?

In a cautious voice, watching the window, Muriel told what she knew. The
recital was pitiful; but Hugh Roughsedge sat impassive, making no
comments. She felt that in this quarter the young man was adamant.

"I suppose"--he turned his face from her--"Miss Mallory does not now go
to Tallyn."

"No." She hesitated, looking at her companion, a score of feelings
mingling in her mind. Then she broke out: "But she would like to!"

His startled look met hers; she was dismayed at what she had done. Yet,
how not to give him warning?--this loyal young fellow, feeding himself
on futile hopes!

"You mean--she still thinks--of Marsham?"

"Of nothing else," she said, impetuously--"of nothing else!"

He frowned and winced.

She resumed: "It is like her--so like her!--isn't it?"

Her soft pitiful eyes, into which the tears had sprung, pressed the
question on him.

"I thought there was a cousin--Miss Drake?" he said, roughly.

Mrs. Colwood hesitated.

"It is said that all that is broken off."

He was silent. But his watch was on the garden. And suddenly, on the
long grass path, Diana appeared, side by side with the Vicar. Roughsedge
sprang up. Muriel was arrested by Diana's face, and by something rigid
in the carriage of the head. What had the Vicar been saying to her?--she
asked herself, angrily. Never was there anything less discreet than the
Vicar's handling of human nature!--female human nature, in particular.

Hugh Roughsedge opened the glass door, and went to meet them. Diana, at
sight of him, gave a bewildered look, as though she scarcely knew
him--then a perfunctory hand.

"Captain Roughsedge! They didn't tell me--"

"I want to speak to you," said the Vicar, peremptorily, to Mrs. Colwood;
and he carried her off round the corner of the house.

Diana gazed after them, and Roughsedge thought he saw her totter.

"You look so ill!" he said, stooping over her. "Come and sit down."

His boyish nervousness and timidity left him. The strong man emerged and
took command. He guided her to a garden seat, under a drooping lime. She
sank upon the seat, quite unable to stand, beckoning him to stay by her.
So he stood near, reluctantly waiting, his heart contracting at the
sight of her.

At last she recovered herself and sat up.

"It was s