o--no; it's better not."

"Oh dear, what shall I do--what shall I do?" sobbed Jane.

"Won't you say good-bye?" was whispered from below, and there was a soft
rustling amongst the bushes beneath the tree.

"Oh, stop--stop!" cried Jane, hoarsely. "Don't leave me like that.
What do you want me to do?"

"Oh, nothing--nothing, only to say goodbye, Jane. I did think that I
should have liked to hold you in my arms for a moment, and have one
parting kiss. I seemed to fancy it would make me a stronger and a
better man, so that I could go and fight my way again in a foreign
world, and make myself fit to come back and ask you to be my wife."

"But John, dear John, don't ask me," sobbed Jane. "How can I?"

"No--no," he said, sadly; "you can't. Don't do anything of the sort. I
only thought you might have come down and let me in through the
billiard-room. But don't do it, Jane; you might get into trouble about
it, and one of us is enough to be in that way. Bless you, Jane! Think
of me sometimes when I'm far away."

Jane did not answer, but with the sobs tearing one after the other from
her breast, she stood, listening and thinking. It was too hard upon
her; she felt that she could not bear it. How, with all his faults, he
still loved her, and should she--could she turn her back upon him when
he was in such trouble? There was a hot burning flush, too, in her
cheeks as she leaned, with beating heart, further from the window,
determined to risk all for his sake.

"John!--John!" she whispered, "Don't go yet; I'll do what you want."

No answer.

"Oh, John!--John! Pray don't leave me like that. I'll come down just
for a few moments to say good-bye."

Still no answer, only a faint rustle amongst the bushes.

Had he then gone?--left her while she was silent for those few minutes,
thinking her to be hard, and cruel, and indifferent? or did he hope that
she would repent, and had he gone round to the glass door by the
billiard-room lobby?

"John!" she whispered again; and then more loudly, "John!"

"Is there anything the matter, my lassie?" said a voice--one which made
the heart of Jane Barker to beat, for she recognised in it that of the
Scotch gardener, who, it now struck her, had been very attentive to her
of late.

"Matter! No," said Jane; "I was only looking out at the stars, Mr
McCray," and she closed the window.

"Ye're in luck to-neet, Sandy, laddie," muttered the gardener. "Ye've
got your rabbit, and