ed him.

When James had gone, Mrs. Parsons looked compassionately at her husband;
he glanced up, and catching her eye, tried to smile. But it was a poor
attempt, and it finished with a sigh.

"What's to be done, Richmond?"

Colonel Parsons shook his head without answering.

"I ought to have warned you that something might happen. I saw there was
a difference in Jamie's feelings, but I fancied it would pass over. I
believed it was only strangeness. Mary is so fond of him, I thought he
would soon love her as much as ever."

"But it's not honourable what he's done, Frances," said the old man at
last, his voice trembling with emotion. "It's not honourable."

"He can't help it if he doesn't love her."

"It's his duty to marry her. She's waited five years; she's given him
the best of her youth--and he jilts her. He can't, Frances; he must
behave like a gentleman."

The tears fell down Mrs. Parsons' careworn cheeks--the slow, sparse
tears of the woman who has endured much sorrow.

"Don't let us judge him, Richmond. We're so ignorant of the world. You
and I are old-fashioned."

"There are no fashions in honesty."

"Let us send for William. Perhaps he'll be able to advise us."

William was Major Forsyth, the brother of Mrs. Parsons. He was a
bachelor, living in London, and considered by his relatives a typical
man of the world.

"He'll be able to talk to the boy better than we can."

"Very well, let us send for him."

They were both overcome by the catastrophe, but as yet hardly grasped
the full extent of it. All their hopes had been centred on this
marriage; all their plans for the future had been in it so intricately
woven that they could not realise the total over-throw. They felt as a
man might feel who was crippled by a sudden accident, and yet still
pictured his life as though he had free use of his limbs.... Mrs.
Parsons wrote a telegram, and gave it to the maid. The servant went out
of the room, but as she did so, stepped back and announced:

"Miss Clibborn, ma'am."

"Mary!"

The girl came in, and lifted the veil which she had put on to hide her
pallor and her eyes, red and heavy with weeping.

"I thought I'd better come round and see you quietly," she said. "I
suppose you've heard?"

"Mary, Mary!"

Mrs. Parsons took her in her arms, kissing her tenderly. Mary pretended
to laugh, and hastily dried the tears which came to her eyes.

"You've been crying, Mrs. Parsons. You mustn't do that.... Le