ty you
possess over her to constrain her will? Is it thus you would interpret
the last dying words of your old companion? Do not imagine, father, that
I place these things before you in cold blood or indifference. I have my
share of sorrow in the matter." He was going to say more, but he stopped
himself, and, arising, walked towards the window. "There she is!" cried
he, "on the terrace; I'll go and meet her." And with this he went out.

It is not impossible that the generous enthusiasm into which Charles
Heathcote had worked himself to subdue every selfish feeling about May
enabled him to meet her with less constraint and difficulty. At all
events, he came towards her with a manner so like old friendship that,
though herself confused, she received him with equal cordiality.

[Illustration: 504]

"How like old times, May, is all this!" said he, as, with her arm
within his own, they strolled under a long vine trellis. "If I had not
to remember that next Wednesday I most be at Malta, I could almost fancy
I had never been away. I wonder when we are to meet again? and where,
and how?"

"I'm sure it is not I that can tell you," said she, painfully; for
in the attempt to conceal his emotion his voice had assumed a certain
accent of levity that wounded her deeply.

"The where matters little, May," resumed he; "but the when is much, and
the how still more."

"It is fortunate, then, that this is the only point I can at all answer
for, for I think I can say that we shall meet pretty much as we part."

"What am I to understand by that, May?" asked he, with an eagerness that
forgot all dissimulation.

"How do you find papa looking?" asked she, hurriedly, as a deep blush
covered her face. "Is he as well as you hoped to see him?"

"No," said he, bluntly; "he has grown thin and careworn. Older by ten
years than I expected to find him."

"He has been much fretted of late; independently of being separated from
_you_, he has had many anxieties."

"I have heard something of this; more, indeed, than I like to believe
true. Is it possible, May, that he intends to marry?"

She nodded twice slowly, without speaking.

"And his wife is to be this Mrs. Morris,--this widow that I remember at
Marlia, long ago?"

"And who is now here domesticated with us."

"What do you know of her? What does any one know of her?" asked he,
impatiently.

"Absolutely nothing,--that is, of her history, her family, or her
belongings. Of herself I c