others, as true and dear as you, were the
stepping-stones to his interest, over those stones he would go. No, no;
it is not honor, whether yours or his, that keeps him silent."

Mrs. Ritson glanced up.

"Are you not too hard on him? He is guiltless in the eye of the world,
and that at least should plead for him. Forgive him. Do not leave your
brother in anger!"

"I have nothing to forgive," said Paul. "Even if he knew nothing, I
should still go away and leave everything. I could not live any longer
under the shadow of this secret, bound by an oath. I would go, as I go
now, with sealed lips, but a free heart. He should have his own before
man--and I mine, before God."

Mrs. Ritson sat in silence; her lips trembled perceptibly, and her
eyelids quivered.

"I shall soon leave you, my dear son," she said in a tremulous voice.

"Nay, nay, you shall not," he answered in an altered tone, half of
raillery, half of tenderness; "you are coming with us--with Greta and
me--and over there the roses will bloom again in your white cheeks."

Mrs. Ritson shook her head.

"I shall soon leave you, dearest," she repeated, and told her beads.

He tried to dispel her sadness; he laughed, and she smiled feebly; he
patted her head playfully. But she came back to the same words: "I shall
soon leave you."

The moon was shining at the full when he lifted his hat to go. It was
sailing through a sky of fibrous cloud. The wind was high, and rattled
the empty boughs of the tree against the window. Keen frost was in the
air.

"I shall see my father's old friend in London on Monday, and be back on
Wednesday. Good-bye. Keep a good heart. Good-bye."

She wept on his breast and clung to him.

"Good-bye, good-bye!" he repeated, and triad to disengage himself from
her embrace.

But she clung closer. It was as if she was to see him no more.

"Good-bye!" she sobbed, and with the tears in his own eyes he laughed at
her idle fears.

"Ha! ha! ha! one would think I was going for life--ha! ha--"

There was a scream on the frosty air without. His laugh died on his
lips.

"What was that?" he said, and drew a sharp breath.

She lifted her face, whiter now than ever, and with tearless eyes.

"It was the cry of the bird that foretells death," she said in a
whisper.

He laughed a little--boisterously.

"Nay, nay; you will be well and happy yet." Then he broke away.

* * * * *

Natt was sitting in the trap, an