me--nobody--nobody!'

He stooped over the fire, fidgeting with it, so that his face was hidden
from her.

'You know, I think, that if I believed there was the faintest hope of
that, I should never have said a word--of my own feelings. But as it
is--why must you feel bound to break up this--this friendship, which
means so much to us all? What harm is there in it? Time will clear up a
great deal. I'll hold my tongue--I promise you. I won't bother you. I
won't speak of it again--for a year--or more--if you wish. But--don't
forsake us!'

He looked up with that smile which in Cicely's unbiased opinion gave him
such an unfair advantage over womankind.

With a little sob, Nelly walked away towards the window, which was still
uncurtained though the night had fallen. Outside there was a starry deep
of sky, above Wetherlam and the northern fells. The great shapes held
the valley in guard; the river windings far below seemed still to keep
the sunset; while here and there shone scattered lights in farms and
cottages, sheltering the old, old life of the dales.

Insensibly Nelly's passionate agitation began to subside. Had she been
filling her own path with imaginary perils and phantoms? Yet there
echoed in her mind the low-spoken words--'I won't deceive you! I love
you!' And the recollection both frightened and touched her.

Presently Farrell spoke again, quite in his usual voice.

'I shall be in despair if you leave me to tackle Cicely alone. She's
been perfectly mad lately. But you can put it all right if you choose.'

Nelly was startled into turning back towards him.

'Oh!--how can I?'

'Tell her she has been behaving abominably, and making a good fellow's
life a burden to him. Scold her! Laugh at her!'

'What has she been doing?' said Nelly, still standing by the window.

Farrell launched into a racy and elaborate account--the effort of one
determined, _coute que coute_, to bring the conversation back to an
ordinary key--of Cicely's proceedings, during the ten days since Nelly
had seen her.

It appeared that Marsworth, after many weeks during which they had heard
nothing of him, had been driven north again to his Carton doctor, by a
return of neuralgic trouble in his wounded arm; and as usual had put up
at the Rectory, where as usual Miss Daisy, the Rector's granddaughter,
had ministered to him like the kind little brick she was.

'You see, she's altogether too good to be true!' said Farrell. 'And yet
it is true