He answered so cheerfully that she was half disappointed, in spite of her remorse, at his not being as miserable as she had expected.  Still, if he had overcome the passion, it was so much better for him.  But yet Valencia hardly wished that he should have overcome it, so self-contradictory is woman’s heart; and her pity had sunk to half-ebb, and her self-complacency was rising with a flowing tide, as he chatted on quietly, but genially, about the voyage, and the scenery, and Snowdon, which he had never seen, and which he would ascend that very day.

“You will do nothing of the kind, Mr. Headley!” cried Lucia.  “Is he not mad, Major Campbell, quite mad?”

“I know I am mad, my dear Mrs. Vavasour; I have been so a long time:  but Snowdon ponies are in their sober senses,—­and I shall take one of them.”

“Fulfil the old pun?—­Begin beside yourself, and end beside your horse!  I am sure he is not strong enough to sit over those rocks.  No, you shall stay at home comfortably here; Valencia and I will take care of you.”

“And mon Saint Pere too.  I have a thousand things to say to him.”

“And so has he to Queen Whims.”

So Scoutbush sent Bowie for “John Jones Clerk,” the fisherman (may his days be as many as his salmon, and as good as his flies!), and the four stayed at home, and talked over the Aberalva tragedies, till, as it befell, both Lucia and Campbell left the room awhile.

Immediately Frank rose, and walking across to Valencia, laid the fatal ring on the arm of her chair, and returned to his seat without a word.

“You are very—.  I hope that it—­,” stammered Valencia.

“You hope that it was a comfort to me?  It was; and I shall be always grateful to you for it.”

Valencia heard an emphasis on the “was.”  It checked the impulse (foolish enough) which rose in her, to bid him keep the ring.

So, prim and dignified, she slipped it into its place on her finger, and went on with her work; merely saying,—­

“I need not say that I am happy that anything which I could do should have been of use to you in such a fearful time.”

“It was a fearful time! but for myself, I cannot be too glad of it.  God grant that it may have been as useful to others as to me!  It cured me of a great folly.  Now I look back, I am astonished at my own absurdity, rudeness, presumption.—­You must let me say it!—­I do not know how to thank you enough, I cannot trust myself with the fit words, they would be so strong:  but I owe this confession to you, and to your exceeding goodness and kindness, when you would have been justified in treating me as a madman.  I was mad, I believe:  but I am in my right mind now, I assure you,” said he gaily.  “Had I not been, I need hardly say you would not have seen me here.  What a prospect this is!” And he rose and looked out of the window.

Valencia had heard all this with downcast eyes and unmoved face.  Was she pleased at it?  Not in the least, the naughty child that she was; and more, she grew quite angry with herself, ashamed of herself, for having thought and felt so much about him the night before.  “How silly of me!  He is very well, and does not care for me.  And who is he, pray, that I should even look at him?”