I was in the storm again.  She suffering, resisting, and I standing aloof!  But what could I do?  She had repelled me—­she would repel me.  Were I to dare to speak, and so be refused, the separation would be final.  She had said that the day might come when she would ask help from me:  she had made no movement towards the request.  I would gladly die to serve her—­yea, more gladly far than live, if that service was to separate us.  But what to do I could not see.  Still, just to do something, even if a useless something, I would go and see Mr Stoddart that evening.  I was sure to find him alone, for he never dined with the family, and I might possibly catch a glimpse of Miss Oldcastle.

I found little Gerard so much better, though very weak, and his mother so quiet, notwithstanding great feverishness, that I might safely leave them to the care of Mary, who had quite recovered from her attack, and her brother Tom.  So there was something off my mind for the present.

The heavens were glorious with stars,—­Arcturus and his host, the Pleiades, Orion, and all those worlds that shine out when ours is dark; but I did not care for them.  Let them shine:  they could not shine into me.  I tried with feeble effort to lift my eyes to Him who is above the stars, and yet holds the sea, yea, the sea of human thought and trouble, in the hollow of His hand.  How much sustaining, although no conscious comforting, I got from that region

“Where all men’s prayers to Thee raised Return possessed of what they pray Thee,”

I cannot tell.  It was not a time favourable to the analysis of feeling—­still less of religious feeling.  But somehow things did seem a little more endurable before I reached the house.

I was passing across the hall, following the “white wolf” to Mr Stoddart’s room, when the drawing-room door opened, and Miss Oldcastle came half out, but seeing me drew back instantly.  A moment after, however, I heard the sound of her dress following us.  Light as was her step, every footfall seemed to be upon my heart.  I did not dare to look round, for dread of seeing her turn away from me.  I felt like one under a spell, or in an endless dream; but gladly would I have walked on for ever in hope, with that silken vortex of sound following me.  Soon, however, it ceased.  She had turned aside in some other direction, and I passed on to Mr Stoddart’s room.

He received me kindly, as he always did; but his smile flickered uneasily.  He seemed in some trouble, and yet pleased to see me.

“I am glad you have taken to horseback,” I said.  “It gives me hope that you will be my companion sometimes when I make a round of my parish.  I should like you to see some of our people.  You would find more in them to interest you than perhaps you would expect.”

I thus tried to seem at ease, as I was far from feeling.

“I am not so fond of riding as I used to be,” returned Mr Stoddart.