One day, during this, time of sickness in the village and Edgar’s lonely residence at the Hill, Leam was riding along the Green Lanes, a pretty bit of quiet country, when she heard the well-known hoofs thundering rapidly behind her, and in due time Major Harrowby drew rein at her side.  “I saw you from the Sherrington road,” he said, his eyes kindling with pleasure at the meeting.

Leam smiled, that pretty little fluttering smile which was so peculiarly her own, playing like a flicker of tender sunshine over her face, but she felt gladder than she showed.  It was not her way to flourish her feelings like flags in the face of men.  Her reticence was part of her dislike to noise and glare.  “I am glad to see you,” she returned quietly, her eyes raised for a moment to his.

“I sometimes fear I annoy you by joining you so often,” said Edgar.

“No, you do not annoy me,” Leam answered.

“It is a pleasure to know at least as much as that,” he returned with a forced laugh.

“Yes?  But why should you think that you annoy me?” she asked.

“Oh, perhaps you see too much of me, and so get tired of me.  The thing is possible,” he said, stroking his horse’s ears.

Leam looked at him as she had looked before, but this time without the smile.  “Are you tired of me that you say so?” she asked.

“No, no, no!  How can you say such a thing—­how dream it?” cried Edgar.  “How could I be tired of you?  Why, you are the sunshine of my life, the one thing I “—­he checked himself—­“I look forward to meeting,” he added awkwardly.

“Then why should I be tired of you?” she returned.  “You are kind to me; you tell me things I do not know; and,” with maddening unconsciousness of how her words might be taken, “there is no one else.”

This was the nearest approach to a compliment that Leam had ever made.  She meant simply that, as there was no one else to tire her, how could her pleasant friend Major Harrowby possibly do so?  But Edgar naturally took her words awry.  “And if there were anyone else I suppose I should be nowhere?  My part has not often been that of a pis aller,” with a deep flush of displeasure.

“Why do you say that?” she asked in a slight tone of surprise.  “You would be always where you are.”

“With you?”

Her face asked his meaning.

“I mean, would you always hold me as much your friend, always care for me as much as you do now—­if, indeed, you care for me at all—­if any one else was here?” he explained.

Leam turned her troubled eyes to the ground.  “I do not change like the wind,” she answered, wishing he would not talk of her at all.

“No, I do not think you do or would,” returned Edgar, bending his head nearer to hers as he drew his horse closer.  “I should think that once loved would be always loved with you, Miss Dundas?” He said this in a low voice that slightly trembled.