'There are such things as fools' paradises,' answered Robert.

'I don't think you have to do with any such places, Robert. I think that the life you lead might have been planned by King Solomon in the very flower of his wisdom.’

Robert's hand that hung over the arm of his chair swung quickly to and fro as if beating an imaginary tambourinebut he said nothing.

'I think you are vexed with me, Robert,' Hirell said, looking at him anxiously. 'Is it about this paper being sent to you? Indeed it is far from being my wish that you should be troubled in this way.'

6

'No, I am not vexed-that's not the word for it,' Robert answered; that seems to mean some peevish sort of annoyance. You were agitated-you turned quite pale when I gave you that paper, because it was from some one you have loved a few months, and who loves you; but suppose' and he turned his head, and looked full and steadily at her'suppose you had it from another woman who pretends to love him, and looks to you to give it to him—what should you feel then-especially if, instead of a few months, you had loved him for many years, as I have loved you?'

Oh, Robert; that is past.'

'Is it ? I have yet to learn that, Hirell.'

They looked at each other a moment, she scarcely believing him, and he wondering sadly how she could have doubted. Then she bent her head, and pressed her hands together beneath the table in much distress.

'Oh, Robert! I hope I did not deceive you in any way when you spoke to me last September. Oh, I should be so grieved if

'You did not deceive me, Hirell. If deceived, I deceived myself. You know how much easier it is to me to look on the best side of things; and, as to your being grieved, rather than that I would have let you go on, thinking my love no stronger and no more enduring than you evidently have thought it.'

Hirell put her thin little hands to her face, saying,

This makes it worse and worse, Robert, my coming here, and being a burden to you, and a pain, through him—through those letters; but I didn't know; I didn't know. I never thought he would find out where I had gone, for one thing;

believe me, I could never have endured the thought of his coming to your house with letters and messages for me. And, when you spoke to me last year, I did not think for a moment that you were much disappointed by my answer; and the next hour I seemed to understand why you had spoken. I thought then that you did not love me at all, and it was only your generous wish to be in a position to give you the right of helping us that made you speak to me. Oh, I beg your pardon, Robert. You have much to forgive me for.'

'What have I to forgive you for, Hirell?' said Robert, in a voice that had in it a strange mingling of self-contempt and tender generosity; for being the means of keeping me to one ambition—that of making my home, and fortune, and my own life more worthy of you. Are they too good to you now, either of them, under their improvements? When I spoke to you it was altogether too sudden. I could not help myself. But I did not look on it as a fair answer from you. I hoped for a different one next time I should ask the same question. When I heard suddenly you were engaged to him whom I was fool enough to take to your house, of course I turned a nuisance to myself, and everybody else. When I heard that there was some trouble connected with the engagement, I supposed through your father, and you came here to us, you did me more good than anything else could have done. I thought if it is a brother and friend she wants, she shall have a right sound and faithful one. I went to your father to reason with him, and I often met Cunliff here, and told him not to be cast down. Yes, I offered my comfort, when he had your love. Oh, Hirell! '

'Robert!' cried Hirell, her face very white and streaming with tears, as she held out with a despairing gesture both her hands towards him; 'take the thanks, the poor poor thanks of one who has nothing else to offer you for all your goodness to her! Nothing, Robert, nothing; no love; no hope.'

Then if I am satisfied with the poor poor thanks,' said Robert, laying the little hands together, and holding them very gently and reverentially in his own, will you be ? or will you give me also the pain of seeing that you take your confidence from me, and look upon me as not to be trusted as your friend, because there happens to be in me more friendliness for you than you care to accept? Here is, certainly, much of it, Hirell; but only take what you want, and leave the rest. will always be here for you,'

It

'Ah, yes, I do trust you, and I will always, Robert. But you must not mind me going home. I must go; indeed I must.'

'Then you shall go, and I will take you. When must you go?'

'This-no, to-morrow-I should so like to go to-morrow; but-but, indeed, I could go by myself.'

'Hirell,' said Robert, in a tone of tender reproach. 'Then please take me.'

CHAPTER L.

ROBERT SETS HIS AFFAIRS IN ORDER.

ROBERT, when he went away from Brockhurst that morning, found a certain sense of relief in the fact that he would not have five minutes' time on his hands till the moment when he should depart with Hirell for Wales.

Nothing had been settled as to the exact train they were to go by, but in his own mind he fixed on one that started from Reculcester at about half-past nine in the morning. He knew that Hirell would look to him to arrange for her to go as soon as possible, yet he knew she would not wish to give his mother such surprise and uneasiness as going that same day would assuredly cause her. He got the exact time of the train from Wrigly, the foreman, and decided that he would go back to Brockhurst in the afternoon and have it settled.

He did not go to the hooded house for that formidable noon-day meal which Mrs. Payne made so much ado about; he felt very little inclined for the sight of it or her, but he persuaded himself it was want of time, not appetite, that kept him away.

So he busied himself in helping to move a light fence that was in the way of the mowers, and this taking him about two hours, brought him to the time when he knew Hirell and his mother would have taken their work and books, and settled themselves under the trees on the lawn. Then he went round to the garden-door, and came upon them in a hurried, businesslike, matter-of-fact way, asking Hirell if the morning train would suit her.

'Very well indeed, Robert, thank you,' she answered; and

Robert seeing they had both been crying, became more in a hurry than ever.

'Then I'll be round with the trap at eight,' he said, and left them without another word.

And now that that duty was over, there was still the rest of the hot June afternoon and long June evening to get through. He must not go home till he was obliged-home to the dreary, unfurnished house, with its gloomy, darkened windows, and cobwebbed ceilings, and unnatural silence, broken only by the slipshod tread of Mrs. Payne on the stairs. and in the great empty rooms. No, that must be put off as long as it possibly could be. Besides, had he not the new stands for the ricks to place, as well as the rick in the south yard to finish? And there was the mare, that had got slightly hurt with the pitchfork, to be taken over to the veterinary surgeon at Ninfield.

By four o'clock the new stands were ready, and were being admired by all who had assisted with them; and Robert had some hay brought to show how the foundations of the ricks were to be managed.

After this he went the round of the hay-fields, and had some tea brought out to him from Brockhurst kitchen. Then he finished in the south yard, and set off for Ninfield with the

mare.

The surgeon advised that she should be left and sent for the next morning, so Robert had to walk home.

Ninfield is the nearest post town to Nytimber, which has no post-office of its own, and Robert, recollecting he would be gone before the letters reached home in the morning, thought he would call in for them as he passed the little shop. The postmaster left counting a pound of candles for a little girl, to attend to Robert; and when he had given him what letters he had for him, he asked, to Robert's great surprise, if Sir John Cunliff was staying at Nytimber.

Certainly not,' said Robert, 'he's been gone above a week.' Then the postmaster told him that some poor man had done nothing but tramp from here to Reculster, and back again from Reculster here, in search of Sir John the whole week.

Uneasy, wild ideas about Elias floated through Robert's mind as he went home. He soon dismissed them as he saw their absurdity. If Elias wanted Cunliff, he would certainly have gone to Nytimber first. Then he remembered some man

had come making enquiries of Mrs. Payne about Cunliff, the day after his departure; and Robert had taken no notice of it at the time, thinking the man was probably some public-house hanger-on, whom Cunliff had employed on some errand and forgotten to pay. In all probability this was the same man who had been so persistent in his enquiry at Ninfield, and as Robert remembered his appearance, he was able to dismiss all fears about Elias.

When he got home it was past nine, but still light, and though he was very tired, he nevertheless felt a great reluctance to go into the Hooded House. He had now seen to all that required his attention before a day's absence; but there was upon him a strange fit of carefulness, an anxiety that nothing should be neglected, and a strong wish to leave all things in as much order as possible.

He had not the slightest idea of staying away an hour longer than he was obliged, yet he found himself arranging things so that work could go on a week or two without him.

He showed this so plainly by wanting things done which did not matter for some time to come, that his men were all of one mind as to his secret intention of making his absence longer than he said it would be.

Robert himself was not a little puzzled by the mood that was upon him. He had never experienced it before on the eve of a journey to Wales or anywhere else. He could not

tell why he was so anxious about the padlock being put on the gate of the three-acre field, when the sheep were not to be turned into it for a fortnight; he only felt that he was anxious, and should think and fidget about it if it were not done. Rather than neglect it, when he found he really had not courage to knock again at the door of Wrigley's cottage (he had already disturbed him three times since his return from Ninfield) he got a padlock and chain, and went himself to put it on the gate.

He did not return across the fields, but round by the road past the pound and the Hop Pole.

The moon had risen, and the hay-fields looked very pleasant under its soft light. There seemed an air of peace and order over all things that was soothing to Robert's restless mind, which grew quieter and more satisfied as he walked home along the silent road.

When he got past the Hop Pole he saw a figure approaching