eed. I would
never look upon you, or hear your name spoken, or think of you again as
long as I lived. My life would not last very long after that blow. Old
age cannot bear such shocks. Oh, Lesbia, I have been father and mother
to you; do not bring my grey hairs in sorrow to the grave.'

Lesbia gave a deep sigh, and brushed the tears from her cheeks. Yes, the
very idea of such a marriage was foolishness. Just now, in the pine
wood, carried away by the force of her lover's passion, by her own
softer feelings, it had seemed to her as if she could count the world
well lost for his sake; but now, at Lady Maulevrier's feet, she became
again true to her training, and the world was too much to lose.

'What can I do, grandmother?' she asked, submissively, despairingly. 'He
loves me, and I love him. How can I tell him that he and I can never be
anything to each other in this world?'

'Refer him to me. I will give him his answer.'

'No, no; that will not do. I have promised to answer him myself. He has
gone for a walk on the hills, and will come back at four o'clock for my
answer.'

'Sit down at that table, and write as I dictate.'

'But a letter will be so formal.'

'It is the only way in which you can answer him. When he comes back from
his walk you will have left Fellside. I shall send you off to St. Bees
with Fraeulein. You must never look upon that man's face again.'

Lesbia brushed away a few more tears, and obeyed. She had been too well
trained to attempt resistance. Defiance was out of the question.

CHAPTER XII.

'THE GREATER CANTLE OF THE WORLD IS LOST.'

The sky was still cloudless when John Hammond strolled slowly up the
leafy avenue at Fellside. He had been across the valley and up the hill
to Easedale Tarn, and then by rough untrodden ways, across a chaos of
rock and heather, into a second valley, long, narrow, and sterile, known
as Far Easedale, a desolate gorge, a rugged cleft in the heart of the
mountains. The walk had been long and laborious; but only in such
clambering and toiling, such expenditure of muscular force and latent
heat, could the man's restless soul endure those long hours of suspense.

'How will she answer me? Oh, my God! how will she answer?' he said
within himself, as he walked up the romantic winding road, which made so
picturesque an approach to Lady Maulevrier's domain, 'Is my idol gold or
clay? How will she come through the crucible? Oh, dearest, sweetest,
loveliest, onl