“She wore a red ribbon?  If it had been Spring, you’d have seen roses.  Oh! what a stanch heart that girl has.  Where she sets it, mind!  Her life where that creature sets her heart!  But, for me, not a penny of comfort!  Now for a whole week of her, day and night, in that black dress with the coloured ribbon.  On she goes:  walking to church; sitting at table; looking out of the window!

“Will you believe I thought those thick eyebrows of hers ugly once—­a tremendous long time ago.  Yes; but what eyes she has under them!  And if she looks tender, one corner of her mouth goes quivering; and the eyes are steady, so that it looks like some wonderful bit of mercy.

“I think of that true-hearted creature praying and longing for her sister, and fearing there’s shame—­that’s why she hates me.  I wouldn’t say I was certain her sister had not fallen into a pit.  I couldn’t.  I was an idiot.  I thought I wouldn’t be a hypocrite.  I might have said I believed as she did.  There she stood ready to be taken—­ready to have given herself to me, if I had only spoken a word!  It was a moment of heaven, and God the Father could not give it to me twice The chance has gone.

“Oh! what a miserable mad dog I am to gabble on in this way.—­Come in! come in, mother.”

Mrs. Boulby entered, with soft footsteps, bearing a letter.

“From the Park,” she said, and commenced chiding Robert gently, to establish her right to do it with solemnity.

“He will talk, sir.  He’s one o’ them that either they talk or they hang silent, and no middle way will they take; and the doctor’s their foe, and health they despise; and since this cruel blow, obstinacy do seem to have been knocked like a nail into his head so fast, persuasion have not a atom o’ power over him.”

“There must be talking when friends meet, ma’am,” said Major Waring.

“Ah!” returned the widow, “if it wouldn’t be all on one side.”

“I’ve done now, mother,” said Robert.

Mrs. Boulby retired, and Robert opened the letter.

It ran thus:—­

“Sir, I am glad you have done me the favour of addressing me temperately, so that I am permitted to clear myself of an unjust and most unpleasant imputation.  I will, if you please, see you, or your friend; to whom perhaps I shall better be able to certify how unfounded is the charge you bring against me.  I will call upon you at the Pilot Inn, where I hear that you are staying; or, if you prefer it, I will attend to any appointment you may choose to direct elsewhere.  But it must be immediate, as the term of my residence in this neighbourhood is limited.

“I am,
“Sir,
“Yours obediently,

“Edward Blancove.”

Major Waning read the lines with a critical attention.

“It seems fair and open,” was his remark.

“Here,” Robert struck his breast, “here’s what answers him.  What shall I do?  Shall I tell him to come?”