f love;
He only knows, and He only can,
The root of love that is in a man.'[1]

For a woman; that's harder still, isn't it, father? But never fret
yourself, father, for Denas loves you and mother first of all and best
of all." And she slipped on to his knee and stretched out her hand to
her mother, and so, kissing the tears off her father's face and the
smiles off her mother's lips, she went happily to her sleep.

And a great trust came into the father's and mother's hearts; they
spoke long of their hopes and plans for her happiness, and then,
stepping softly to her bedside, they blessed her in her sleep. And she
was dreaming of Roland Tresham. So mighty is love, and yet so
ignorant; so strong, and yet so weak; so wise, and yet so easily
deceived.

CHAPTER II.

OH, THE PITY OF IT!

"One love is false, one love is true:
Ah, if a maiden only knew!"

"It is dear honey that is licked off a thorn."

The thing Elizabeth Tresham had done her best to prevent had really
happened, but she was not much to blame. Circumstances quite
unexpectedly had disarranged her plans and made her physically unable
to keep her usual guard over her companion. In fact, Elizabeth's own
love-affairs that eventful Saturday demanded all her womanly diplomacy
and decision.

Miss Tresham had the two lovers supposed to be the lot of most
women--the ineligible one, whom she contradictively preferred, and the
eligible one, who adored her in spite of all discouragements. The
first was the young rector of St. Penfer, a man to whom Elizabeth
ascribed every heavenly perfection, but who in the matter of earthly
goods had not been well considered by the church he served. The living
of St. Penfer was indeed a very poor one, but then the church itself
was early Norman and the rectory more than two hundred years old.
Elizabeth thought poverty might at least be picturesque under such
conditions; and at nineteen years of age poverty has a romantic
colouring if only love paint it.

Robert Burrell, the other lover, had nothing romantic about him, not
even poverty. He was unpoetically rich--he even trafficked in money.
The rector was a very young man; Burrell was thirty-eight years old.
The rector wrote poetry, and understood Browning, and recited from
Arnold and Morris. Burrell's tastes were for social science and
statistics. He was thoughtful, intelligent, well-bred, and reticent;
small in figure, with a large head and very fine eyes. T