y, the _eclat_. In short, I never
liked to be the centre of a small domestic whirlpool. You can bear a
little shock--eh?"

"A great one, if necessary."

Not a muscle of the man's frame moved, and yet his large heart beat fast
in his deep chest. What was she going to tell him? Was irremediable
mischief done?

"Had I thought it right to go to you, I would never have made a secret
of the matter one moment," she continued. "I would have told you at
once, and asked advice."

"Why was it not right to come to me?"

"It might be _right_--I do not mean that; but I could not do it. I
seemed to have no title to trouble you. The mishap concerned me only. I
wanted to keep it to myself, and people will not let me. I tell you, I
hate to be an object of worrying attention, or a theme for village
gossip. Besides, it may pass away without result--God knows!"

Moore, though tortured with suspense, did not demand a quick
explanation. He suffered neither gesture, glance, nor word to betray
impatience. His tranquillity tranquillized Shirley; his confidence
reassured her.

"Great effects may spring from trivial causes," she remarked, as she
loosened a bracelet from her wrist. Then, unfastening her sleeve, and
partially turning it up, "Look here, Mr. Moore."

She showed a mark in her white arm--rather a deep though healed-up
indentation--something between a burn and a cut.

"I would not show that to any one in Briarfield but you, because you can
take it quietly."

"Certainly there is nothing in the little mark to shock. Its history
will explain."

"Small as it is, it has taken my sleep away, and made me nervous, thin,
and foolish; because, on account of that little mark, I am obliged to
look forward to a possibility that has its terrors."

The sleeve was readjusted, the bracelet replaced.

"Do you know that you try me?" he said, smiling. "I am a patient sort of
man, but my pulse is quickening."

"Whatever happens, you will befriend me, Mr. Moore? You will give me the
benefit of your self-possession, and not leave me at the mercy of
agitated cowards?"

"I make no promise now. Tell me the tale, and then exact what pledge you
will."

"It is a very short tale. I took a walk with Isabella and Gertrude one
day, about three weeks ago. They reached home before me; I stayed behind
to speak to John. After leaving him, I pleased myself with lingering in
the lane, where all was very still and shady. I was tired of chattering
to the