ot bear it!"

It is the first time she has ever called him Brian, and in her face, as
she turns it from him, crimson from brow to chin, in her very attitude,
as she stands with clasped hands before him, there is some subtle
change that chills him.

"Then promise me that when times are brighter and you are happier you
will listen to me, Honor."

"Perhaps," she stammers; and then, with tears in her eyes: "Oh, how
cruel I am! I'm not worth loving!" And she is gone before he can say
another word.

For so stoical a man, Brian Beresford is strangely excited to-night.
Long after Honor has left him he walks up and down the darkening room,
and, when the old butler comes in to light the lamps, he goes out on to
the terrace and continues his measured tramp to and fro, smoking and
thinking, and watching he scarcely knows for what.

Ever since he saw Honor hide away that scrap of paper in her dress he
has been tormented with jealous fears.

"If the fellow were once out of the country I should feel all right,"
he tells himself. But the fellow is not out of the country--nay, may be
in the immediate neighborhood for all he can tell, and in consequence
he is racked with anxiety.

From the terrace he can see the ruins clearly at first; then the mist
partly blots them out, and presently he can only guess at their
position. But he has no interest in the ruins. He is not in the least
superstitious; and certainly he does not believe in the old abbot.

He has reached the end of the walk and turned to go back, when the
sight of a tall slight figure, coming rapidly down the steps not many
yards away, brings him to a sudden halt.

"Ah!" he says, as he recognizes Honor. "Then it was not without cause
that I've been so uneasy! A warning, these people would call it, I
suppose."

It is a terrible blow to him, striking to the very root of his love. He
hates mystery; and to find this girl, whom he had thought perfect in
her maidenly pride and purity, stealing out in the dark from her
father's house fills him with dismay.

For an instant he feels tempted to follow and speak to her, then he
turns back. He can hardly control himself so far as to speak calmly,
and every faint far-away noise makes him start.

"She is safe enough," he tells himself a dozen times; but he finds no
comfort in his own assertions.

In his heart he feels convinced that she has gone to meet Power Magill;
and in his jealous fury he almost hates her for it.

"Wher