rom taking her hand and cramming the diamond back into its old place.
"I must go. Father cannot--he is ill himself; and Miss Keene is too
frightfully modest to nurse him alone, so that I must send Keziah back,
and stay--"

"Can't Miss Keene go and send her back, and stay?"

"Oh, she would be no use in such an illness as Mary's. And I must see
for myself how things are--whether they are taking proper care of the
poor, unfortunate child--"

"Is she so very ill? I did not know that."

There was commiseration in his tone, but in his heart he hoped that the
deservedly sick woman would crown her escapades by dying as quickly as
possible. Then, perhaps, he could forgive her.

Deb gave him sundry confidences. On his appearing to take them in a
proper spirit, she gave him some more tea. And so they lapsed into
their normal relations. When she again urged the need for her to be
getting off on her errand of mercy, he magnanimously offered to drive
her. She accepted with a full heart, and her arms about his neck. While
she was getting ready, he repacked his portmanteau, and ordered it to
be put into the buggy.

"It's no use my going back," he said to her, when they were on the
road, "with you away, and your father too ill to see me. I'll put up at
the hotel tonight, and go on to town in the morning. You can send for
me there whenever you want me, you know."

"Just as you like, dear," said Deb quietly; and for the rest of their
journey they talked commonplaces.

When they reached the parsonage gate, from which the maid-of-all-work
and a group of street gossips scattered in panic at their approach, the
lovers shook hands perfunctorily.

"Goodbye, then, for a little while," said Claud. "You don't want me to
come in, do you?"

"Certainly not," said she coldly.

"You know that it is totally against my judgment--and my wishes--that
you go in yourself, Deb?"

"Yes. But one's own judgment must be one's guide."

Thus they parted, each with a grievance against the other--a root of
bitterness to be nourished by much thinking about it, and by the
circumstance that poor Mary neither died nor was repudiated. Claud
drove on to the hotel, to be further disgusted with his accommodation
and his dinner; Deb walked into the house which hitherto she had
visited in a spirit of kindly condescension, to be revolted by the new
aspect which her changed relations with it now gave to its every
feature. Ruby, neglected, with a jam-smeared face