was still more important to him. He
must see Marion Fay before he went into Northamptonshire, and then he
would learn how soon he might run up with the prospect of seeing her
again. The distance of Gorse Hall and the duty of hunting would admit
of certain visits to Holloway. "I think I shall go to Gorse Hall
to-morrow," he said to his sister as soon as he had come down from
his room.

"All right; I shall be ready. Hendon Hall or Gorse Hall,--or any
other Hall, will be the same to me now." Whereby she probably
intended to signify that as George Roden was on his way to Italy all
parts of England were indifferent to her.

"But I am not quite certain," said he.

"What makes the doubt?"

"Holloway, you know, has not been altogether deserted. The sun no
doubt has set in Paradise Row, but the moon remains." At this she
could only laugh, while he prepared himself for his excursion to
Holloway.

He had received the Quaker's permission to push his suit with Marion,
but he did not flatter himself that this would avail him much. He
felt that there was a strength in Marion which, as it would have made
her strong against her father had she given away her heart without
his sanction, so would it be but little moved by any permission
coming from him. And there was present to the lover's mind a feeling
of fear which had been generated by the Quaker's words as to Marion's
health. Till he had heard something of that story of the mother and
her little ones, it had not occurred to him that the girl herself was
wanting in any gift of physical well-being. She was beautiful in his
eyes, and he had thought of nothing further. Now an idea had been
put into his head which, though he could hardly realize it, was most
painful to him. He had puzzled himself before. Her manner to him had
been so soft, so tender, so almost loving, that he could not but
hope, could hardly not think, that she loved him. That, loving him,
she should persist in refusing him because of her condition of life,
seemed to him to be unnatural. He had, at any rate, been confident
that, were there nothing else, he could overcome that objection. Her
heart, if it were really given to him, would not be able to support
itself in its opposition to him upon such a ground of severance as
that. He thought that he could talk her out of so absurd an argument.
But in that other argument there might be something that she would
cling to with persistency.

But the Quaker himself had de