t a strange, ineffable sadness, as one might be
conscious of the dark depths of a moon-lit stream. Her every movement
rose before him again, giving him the sense of pain suppressed for his
sake.

He had abandoned himself to the charm of the evening--it had been so
wonderful to him! But now his vision seemed to have grown keener, to
be piercing deeper. His memory of each moment was marvellously clear.
How vivid still was the picture of Mrs. Medhurst bending down into the
light, when he had noticed how the gold was fading out of the still
beautiful hair. In the haunting memory of her sweet face he seemed to
see now an under-expression of anxious pity and love.

Perhaps now that the pressure was relaxed, Margaret had stolen up to
her room and was sobbing passionately to a silent world.

They seemed to beat through him, these sobs! And then Mrs. Medhurst's
face again seemed to be with him, and the knowledge that his father
had loved her in the olden days seemed to bring her closer to his
heart. He stood still and threw out his arms in the darkness, with the
vain yearning fancy that perhaps she might be there, that perhaps she
might take him to her.

"Morgan," sang out a voice by his side.

His arms dropped and his heart beat painfully, and, though in a moment
he had perceived it was Diana had overtaken him in the gloom, he could
not recover himself.

"Why, you're crying!" she exclaimed, as her hand stole into his. "And
so is she. That makes a pair of you. I'm sure I don't know what it's
all about, but it's enough to vex a saint. Something mysterious has
happened and nobody will tell me a word about it. And I dare not ask
Margaret. I tried it once, and it just started her off crying--I
thought she'd never stop!"

He did not answer her. He but held her little hand tighter, aware that
the contact made his own seem coarser. They moved on together.

Suddenly he checked himself. "You must not come any further," he
began. "I must see you back."

"Tell me first what has happened," she persisted; "Why have you become
a workman?"

"I cannot and must not tell you. Besides, you could never understand."

"I understand a good deal more than you grown-up people think I do.
Why can't you leave off being a workman? And why don't you come and
marry Margaret? She's awfully in love with you, and so are you with
her--you know you are!"

"Yes Diana, I know I am," fell from his lips, and immediately he
regretted the words.

"The