eeping to the district in which he now
wandered he was practically as remote from her as when he walked the
streets of Bristol.

Yet there was one person who would welcome him eagerly if he chose to
visit her. And, after all, might it not be as well if he heard what
Marcella had to say to him? He could not go to the house, for it would
be disagreeable to encounter Moxey; but, if he wrote, Marcella would
speedily make an appointment. After an hour or two of purposeless
rambling, he decided to ask for an interview. He might learn something
that really concerned him; in any case, it was a final meeting with
Marcella, to whom he perhaps owed this much courtesy.

The reply was as prompt as that from Earwaker. By the morning post came
a letter inviting him to call upon Miss Moxey as soon as possible
before noon. She added, 'My brother is away in the country; you will
meet no one here.'

By eleven o'clock he was at Notting Hill; in the drawing-room, he sat
alone for two or three minutes. Marcella entered silently, and came
towards him without a smile; he saw that she read his face eagerly, if
not with a light of triumph in her eyes. The expression might signify
that she rejoiced at having been an instrument of his discomfiture;
perhaps it was nothing more than gladness at seeing him again.

'Have you come to live in London?' she asked, when they had shaken
hands without a word.

'I am only here for a day or two.'

'My letter reached you without delay?'

'Yes. It was sent from Twybridge to Bristol. I didn't reply then, as I
had no prospect of being in London.'

'Will you sit down? You can stay for a few minutes?'

He seated himself awkwardly. Now that he was in Marcella's presence, he
felt that he had acted unaccountably in giving occasion for another
scene between them which could only end as painfully as that at Exeter.
Her emotion grew evident; he could not bear to meet the look she had
fixed upon him.

'I want to speak of what happened in this house about Christmas time,'
she resumed. 'But I must know first what you have been told.'

'What have _you_ been told?' he replied, with an uneasy smile. 'How do
you know that anything which happened here had any importance for me?'

'I don't know that it had. But I felt sure that Mr. Warricombe meant to
speak to you about it.'

'Yes, he did.'

'But did he tell you the exact truth? Or were you led to suppose that I
had broken my promise to you?'

Unwilling to intr