s path, ever ready to remind Ruth of Anthony Wilding when
Sir Rowland most desired Anthony Wilding to be forgotten; and in Diana's
feelings towards himself such a change had been gradually wrought that
she had come to reciprocate his sentiments--to hate him with all the
bitter hatred into which love can be by scorn transmuted. At first her
object in keeping Ruth's thoughts on Mr. Wilding, in pleading his cause,
and seeking to present him in a favourable light to the lady whom he had
constrained to become his wife, had been that he might stand a barrier
between Ruth and Sir Rowland to the end that Diana might hope to see
revived--faute de mieux, since possible in no other way--the feelings
that once Sir Rowland had professed for herself. The situation was
rich in humiliations for poor, vain, foolishly crafty Diana, and these
humiliations were daily rendered more bitter by Sir Rowland's unwavering
courtship of her cousin in despite of all that she could do.

In the end the poison of them entered her soul, corroded her sentiments
towards him, dissolved the love she had borne him, and transformed
it into venom. She would not have him now if he did penitence for his
disaffection by going in sackcloth and crawling after her on his knees
for a full twelvemonth. But neither should he have Ruth if she could
thwart his purpose. On that she was resolved.

Had she but guessed that he watched them from the windows, waiting for
her to take her departure, she had lingered all the morning, and all
the afternoon if need be, at Ruth's side. But being ignorant of
the circumstance--believing that he had already left the house--she
presently quitted Ruth to go indoors, and no sooner was she gone than
there was Blake replacing her at Ruth's elbow. Mistress Wilding met him
with unsmiling, but not ungentle face.

"Not yet gone, Sir Rowland?" she asked him, and a less sanguine man had
been discouraged by the words.

"It may be forgiven me that I tarry at such a time," said he, "when we
consider that I go, perhaps--to return no more." It was an inspiration
on his part to assume the role of the hero going forth to a possible
death. It invested him with noble, valiant pathos which could not, he
thought, fail of its effect upon a woman's mind. But he looked in vain
for a change of colour, be it never so slight, or a quickening of the
breath. He found neither; though, indeed, her deep blue eyes seemed to
soften as they observed him.

"Ther