t hour the
unspeakable happiness of sitting by her side.

"Father," he said, "I am well now, or nearly well will you let me go on
a little journey?"

"A journey?--where? We will all go together, Edward, if you want any
change of air and scene."

He shook his head. "You can guess," he said, "where I wish to go for
the last time."

"But do you think you can travel alone, Eddy, with your poor wounded
hand?" asked Eva.

"Oh yes; the splints keep it safe, and I shall only be two days or so
away."

They suffered him to fulfil his whim, although they felt that if he saw
Violet, the meeting could hardly fail to be full of pain.

It was deep in autumn when he started, and arriving at Ildown, took up
his abode in the little village inn. He kept himself as free from
observation as he could, and begged the landlady, who recognised him,
not to mention his arrival to any one. She had seen him on his former
visit, and remembered favourably his genial good-humour and affable
bearing. He told her frankly that he had come to say good-bye to Miss
Home, whom he might not see again; but he did not wish to go to the
house--could the landlady tell him anything about their movements?

"Why, yes; I do happen to know," she said, "and I suppose there can't be
no harm in telling you, for I heard Master Cyril say as how they were
all a-going a-gipseying to-morrow in the wood near the King's Oak."

"And when do you think they will start?"

"Oh, they'll start at ten, sir, in the morning, for I'm a-going to lend
'em my little trap to carry the perwisions in, and that."

This would suit Kennedy capitally, and musing on the meeting of the
morrow, he sank into a doze in the armchair. A whispering awoke him,
and he was far from reassured by overhearing the following colloquy:--

"Who be that in the parlour?" asked a rustic.

"Oh, that's the young gentleman as wer' Miss Violet's sweetheart," said
the barmaid confidentially; "nobody don't know of it, but I heard the
Missus a-saying so."

"Why bean't he at the house then?"

"Oh, ye know, he ain't her sweetheart no longer; there's been a muddle
somehow, and they do say as how he shot hisself, but he don't seem to be
shot much now, to look at 'im. He's as likely and proper a young
gentleman as I've seen for a long time."

Taking his candle wearily, Kennedy listened to no more of the
conversation, and went to bed. His bedroom window looked towards the
pleasant house and garden of Mr