e would
escape that dreadful horseback journey to Damascus.

During the next day Caroline and George Bertram were not together for
a moment--that is, they were not together alone; for they breakfasted
and dined at the same table, and he sat between the aunt and her
niece as he had done continually since he had been at Jerusalem.
Sir Lionel told him in the forenoon that they were not to have the
pleasure of the ladies' company on their journey, and rallied him as
to the heart-breaking tendency of these tidings. But George showed,
in his countenance at least, no symptoms of heart-breaking.

That evening, as they all parted for the night, George did press
Miss Waddington's hand more warmly than was usual with him; and,
as he did so, he did look into her face for one moment to see what
encouragement he might find there. I cannot say that there was no
encouragement. The pressure was perhaps not met by any similar warmth
on her part, but it was submitted to without any touch of resentment:
the love which shot from his eye was not returned to him from hers,
but hers were soft beneath his glance, softer than was usual with
Caroline Waddington.

But on the next morning they did come together. It was the day before
the departure of the Bertrams, and whatever was to be said must be
said then. Caroline watched her opportunity, and as soon as breakfast
was over--they all breakfasted in the public salon--asked him to come
into her aunt's sitting-room. She was quite collected, had fully
made up her mind what to say, and was able also to say it without
hesitation, and with perfect self-possession. This was more than
could be boasted of on the gentleman's behalf.

"You know, Mr. Bertram, that we are not going to travel together?"

"Yes; my father told me so yesterday."

"And you will understand the reason of it, I am sure?"

"Not exactly, Miss Waddington. I cannot say I do understand it. I
may have been presumptuous in what I said to you the other day; but
I do not see why on that account your aunt should be put to the
inconvenience of altering her plans. You fear, I suppose, that I
should annoy you; but you might trust me--and still may if you will
do so."

"Now, Mr. Bertram, you are hardly so sincere as you asserted yourself
to be, and required me to be on the mount. You are yourself quite
aware that nobody has thought you presumptuous. I have nothing to
complain of, and much to thank you for--independently of the honour
yo