talking to that
clergyman at dinner I could see every sparkle that came from it. Then
I wonder to myself whether you can ever be thinking of me as I am
always thinking of you." She knew that she had been thinking of him
every waking moment since she had been at Albury and through many of
her sleeping moments also. "Ayala, one little word, one other glance
from your eyes, one slightest touch from your hand upon my arm, shall
tell me,--shall tell me,--shall tell me that I am the happiest, the
proudest man in all the world." She walked on steadfastly, closing
her very teeth against a word, with her eyes fixed before her so that
no slightest glance should wander. Her two hands were in her little
muff, and she kept them with her fingers clasped together, as though
afraid lest one might rebel, and fly away, and touch the sleeve of
his coat. "Ayala, how is it to be with me?"

"I cannot," she said sternly. And her eyes were still fixed before
her, and her fingers were still bound in one with another. And yet
she loved him. Yet she knew that she loved him. She could have hung
upon his arm and smiled up into his face, and frowned her refusal
only with mock anger as he pressed her to his bosom,--only that those
dreams were so palpable to her and so dear, had been to her so vast a
portion of her young life! "I cannot," she said again. "I cannot."

"Is that to be your answer for ever?" To this she made no immediate
reply. "Must it be so, Ayala?"

"I cannot," she said. But the last little word was so impeded by the
sobs which she could not restrain as almost to be inaudible.

"I will not make you unhappy, Ayala." Yes, she was unhappy. She was
unhappy because she knew that she could not rule herself to her own
happiness; because, even at this moment, she was aware that she was
wrong. If she could only release part of herself from the other, then
could she fly into his arms and tell him that that spirit which had
troubled her had flown. But the spirit was too strong for her, and
would not fly. "Shall we go and join them?" he asked her in a voice
altered, but still so sweet to her ears.

"If you think so," she replied.

"Perhaps it will be best, Ayala. Do not be angry with me now. I will
not call you so again." Angry! Oh, no! She was not angry with him!
But it was very bitter to her to be told that she should never hear
the word again from his lips.

"The hunted fox never went up Buddlecombe Hill;--never. If he did
I'll eat eve