Mr. Churchill, who was a man with a keen eye to a bargain, immediately led John away to inspect his stables and paddocks. And it ended by John buying a valuable riding-horse and the farmer feeling that he had done an excellent morning's work. Then came the early dinner, at which May presided, looking in John's eyes more lovely still from the light pallor of her smooth cheeks, and the faint violet rim round her beautiful eyes. The tragic affair of the morning was scarcely mentioned, but the meal was hardly over when a summons was served at the farm for May and her father both to attend the inquest on poor Elsie Wray's body, which had to be held on the following morning. Then some one came to see Mr. Churchill on business, and John Temple and May were left alone. "Let us go into the garden for a little while," he said. So the two went out together and walked side by side on the trim gravel walks, between the blooming flower-beds, which were May's especial care. May made some allusion to Elsie Wray's death, but after a word or two on the subject John Temple changed the conversation. "She probably committed suicide, poor girl," he said; "her appearance indicated that she was a woman of strong and passionate emotions." "In any case it is so terribly sad." "Yes, but do not think of it; we all must do so to-morrow; let us put off the evil day." Then he began talking to her of a little tour he had had in Normandy at this very time last year, telling her of the quaint old French towns that he had sojourned in, with their wide ramparts, spreading orchards, and rosy pippins. He spoke well and graphically, and somehow both forgot the time. Suddenly, however, John glanced at his watch and gave an exclamation. "Why, the day has flown!" he cried. "Do you know it is actually five o'clock, and I left Woodlea at half-past eight. My good uncle will naturally think I have run away." "You must tell them--" began May, and then she paused embarrassed. "I will tell them I went out for an early walk, and by accident met you, who had just made the sad discovery which you did. There is no need to say anything else." "No, of course not," answered May, relieved. "And I will add that I went back with you to Fern Dene, and saw the poor girl and remained there while you ran home for assistance to your father. This affair is sure to be greatly talked of." "Yes, it is most painful to be mixed up in it, and I feel so dreadfully sorry for her poor father." "The whole thing is painful--but I must go. Good-by, Miss Churchill--I wonder if you would give me a rose?" "Oh, yes," answered May; and she stooped down and plucked a crimson bud. "Will you have this one?" "A thousand thanks--once more good-by." Then their hands met, and for a moment May looked up in John Temple's face, and she blushed softly as she did so. CHAPTER X. THE WAGES OF SIN.