roaching herself in that she did not pocket her pride half
an hour ago, and give way to the tears that have had such a fortunate
effect.

Just at this juncture, Luttrell, clearing a stile that separates him
from them, appears upon the scene. His dismay on seeing Molly in tears
almost obliterates the displeased amazement with which he regards
Philip's unexpected appearance.

"Molly," he calls out to her, even from the distance, some undefined
instinct telling him she will be glad of his presence. And Molly,
hearing him, raises her head, and without a word or cry runs to him,
and flings herself into the fond shelter of his arms.

As he holds her closely in his young, strong, ardent embrace, a great
peace--a joy that is almost pain--comes to her. Had she still any
lingering doubts of her love for him, this moment, in which he stands
by her as a guardian, a protector, a true lover, would forever dispel
them.

"You here," says Luttrell, addressing Philip with a frown, while his
face flames, and then grows white as Shadwell's own, "and Miss
Massereene in tears! Explain----"

"Better leave explanation to another time," interrupts Philip, with
insolent _hauteur_, his repentant mood having vanished with
Luttrell's arrival, "and take Miss Massereene home. She is tired."

So saying, he turns coolly on his heel, and walks away.

Luttrell makes an angry movement as though to follow him; but Molly
with her arms restrains him.

"Do not leave me," she says, preparing to cry again directly if he
shows any determination to have it out with Shadwell. "Stay with me. I
feel so nervous and--and faint."

"Do you, darling?" Regarding her anxiously. "You do look pale. What was
Shadwell saying to you? Why were you crying? If I thought he----"

"No, no,"--laying five hasty, convincing little fingers on his
arm,--"nothing of the kind. Won't you believe me? He only reminded me
of past days, and I was foolish, and--that was all."

"But what brought him at all?"

"To see me," says Molly, longing yet fearing to tell him of Philip's
unpardonable behavior. "But do not let us talk of him. I cannot bear
him. He makes me positively nervous. He is so dark, so vehement,
so--uncanny!"

"The fellow isn't much of a fellow, certainly," says Luttrell, with
charming explicitness.

For the mile that lies between them and home, they scarcely
speak,--walking together, as children might, hand in hand, but in a
silence unknown to our household pests.