t it.

Some months after, a chance word spoken by a friend brought back this
promise to his memory.

He had been spending a few days at Henley with some old college
friends, when one of them mentioned Daintree, and the name brought
back his father's dying words.

"I may as well do it," he said to himself that night; "the other
fellows are going back to London; it will not hurt me to stop another
day"--and so he settled it.

Hugh scarcely knew why he went, or what he intended to do; in his
heart he was willing to forget his trouble in any new excitement; his
one idea during all these months had been to escape the misery of his
own thoughts. Yes, he would see the young heiress whom his father had
always wished him to marry; he remembered her as a pretty child some
seven or eight years ago, and wondered with a listless sort of
curiosity what the years had done for her, and whether they had
ripened or destroyed what was certainly a fair promise of beauty.

Poor Hugh! It would have been better for him to have traveled and
forgotten his disappointment before such an idea had come into his
head. Many a one in his case would have shaken off the dust of their
native land, and, after having seen strange countries and undergone
novel experiences, have returned home partially or wholly
cured--perhaps to love again, this time more happily. But with Hugh
the time had not yet come. He was terribly tenacious in his
attachments, but just then anger against Margaret had for a little
time swallowed up love. He said to himself that he would forget her
yet--that he would not let any woman spoil his life. If he sinned,
circumstances were more to blame than he. Fate was so dead against
him, his case was so cruelly hard. Alas, Hugh Redmond was not the only
man who, stung by passion, jealousy, or revenge, has taken the first
downward step on the green slippery slope that leads to Avernus.

Hugh almost repented his errand when he came in sight of the little
Gothic cottage with its circular porch, where Miss Mordaunt and her
niece lived.

The cottage stood on high ground, and below the sloping garden lay a
broad expanse of country--meadows and plowed fields--that in autumn
would be rich with waving corn, closed in by dark woods, beyond which
lay the winding invisible river. As Hugh came up the straight carriage
drive, he caught sight of a little girl in a white frock playing with
a large black retriever on the lawn.

The dog was rather