but I prefer being on foot when I know the country, as I do here."

"Have a glass of wine before you go."

"Oh, dear, no. I think I'll go back through the squire's fields, and
out on the road at the white gate. The path is quite dry now."

"I dare say it is," said Mrs Dale.

"Lily, I wonder whether you would come as far as that with me."
As the request was made Mrs Dale looked at her daughter almost
beseechingly. "Do, pray do," said he; "it is a beautiful day for
walking."

The path proposed lay right across the field into which Lily had
taken Crosbie when she made her offer to let him off from his
engagement. Could it be possible that she should ever walk there
again with another lover? "No, John," she said; "not to-day, I think.
I am almost tired, and I had rather not go out."

"It would do you good," said Mrs Dale.

"I don't want to be done good to, mamma. Besides, I should have to
come back by myself."

"I'll come back with you," said Johnny.

"Oh, yes; and then I should have to go again with you. But, John,
really I don't wish to walk to-day." Whereupon John Eames again put
down his hat.

"Lily," said he; and then he stopped. Mrs Dale walked away to the
window, turning her back upon her daughter and visitor. "Lily, I have
come over here on purpose to speak to you. Indeed, I have come down
from London only that I might see you."

"Have you, John?"

"Yes, I have. You know well all that I have got to tell you. I loved
you before he ever saw you; and now that he has gone, I love you
better than I ever did. Dear Lily!" and he put out his hand to her.

"No, John; no," she answered.

"Must it be always no?"

"Always no to that. How can it be otherwise? You would not have me
marry you while I love another!"

"But he is gone. He has taken another wife."

"I cannot change myself because he is changed. If you are kind to me
you will let that be enough."

"But you are so unkind to me!"

"No, no; oh, I would wish to be so kind to you! John, here; take my
hand. It is the hand of a friend who loves you, and will always love
you. Dear John, I will do anything,--everything for you but that."

"There is only one thing," said he, still holding her by the hand,
but with his face turned from her.

"Nay; do not say so. Are you worse off than I am? I could not have
that one thing, and I was nearer to my heart's longings than you have
ever been. I cannot have that one thing; but I know that there are
other th