omission was forgiven him by both the ladies. Poor Madeline, as he
went, muttered a kind farewell, but her tears had mastered her also,
so that she could hardly speak.

He went directly to the stables, there got upon his horse, and then
walked slowly down the avenue towards the gate. He had got the better
of that tear-compelling softness as soon as he found himself beyond
the presence of the girl he loved, and was now stern in his mood,
striving to harden his heart. He had confessed himself a fool in
comparison with Felix Graham; but yet,--he asked himself,--in spite
of that, was it not possible that he would have made her a better
husband than the other? It was not to his title or his estate that he
trusted as he so thought, but to a feeling that he was more akin to
her in circumstances, in ways of life, and in tenderness of heart. As
all this was passing through his mind, Felix Graham presented himself
to him in the road.

"Orme," said he, "I heard that you were in the house, and have come
to shake hands with you. I suppose you have heard what has taken
place. Will you not shake hands with me?"

"No," said Peregrine, "I will not."

"I am sorry for that, for we were good friends, and I owe you much
for your kindness. It was a fair stand-up fight, and you should not
be angry."

"I am angry, and I don't want your friendship. Go and tell her that I
say so, if you like."

"No, I will not do that."

"I wish with all my heart that we had both killed ourselves at that
bank."

"For shame, Orme, for shame!"

"Very well, sir; let it be for shame." And then he passed on, meaning
to go through the gate, and leaving Graham on the grass by the
road-side. But before he had gone a hundred yards down the road his
better feelings came back upon him, and he returned.

"I am unhappy," he said, "and sore at heart. You must not mind what
words I spoke just now."

"No, no; I am sure you did not mean them," said Felix, putting his
hand on the horse's mane.

"I did mean them then, but I do not mean them now. I won't say
anything about wishes. Of course you will be happy with her. Anybody
would be happy with her. I suppose you won't die, and give a fellow
another chance."

"Not if I can help it," said Graham.

"Well, if you are to live, I don't wish you any evil. I do wish you
hadn't come to Noningsby, that's all. Good-bye to you." And he held
out his hand, which Graham took.

"We shall be good friends yet, for all that