Listening with tightly folded hands, the slim figure in black accorded him her entire sympathy. Now she was in possession of all his confidence, and such was his unhappy plight, he was desperately in love with a girl, and could neither speak nor show a sign--nor make his real position known. What an amazing state of affairs! Did Aurea recognise in Wynyard a silent worshipper? And was it not true that love and smoke cannot be concealed? “You will keep this to yourself, I know,” he said. “I’m not _sure_ that I’m within my right in telling you, but somehow I had to.” “You may be certain I shall never breathe it till you give me permission,” she answered, drawing a long breath; “but what an extraordinary man your uncle must be!” “Yes, he is eccentric; but I believe he is right--this sort of apprenticeship will do me a jolly lot of good. I know more of the people now I’m one of them. Many a thing I’ve learnt here, that I’d never have had a glimpse of, and I must tell you fair and square that I gave Uncle Dick a lot of bother in the way of my debts.” “Hereditary extravagance--your father--a younger son--drove a four-in-hand, you know. Ah, here comes Aurea,” as the little gate swung. “I half promised to go over there this evening.” “Then good-bye, I’m off; I’ll finish the packing to-morrow,” and he escaped through the back garden. It was abundantly evident that of late Miss Morven avoided him, and he had not spoken to her since the tragic occasion when they both hung over a dying man on the high road to Upstreet. More than six months had gone by since he had come to Ottinge; sometimes it seemed an endless time, at others as but yesterday. One thing was clear and stationary in his mind--his living among working people had opened the eyes of a future landowner, given him a better estimate of his responsibilities, and a sympathy and understanding that nothing could obliterate. At last Ivy House was closed; the blinds were drawn down, the key hung in Mrs. Hogben’s bedroom, and the memory of the recent catastrophe had become a little dim. It was three weeks since the Captain had killed himself, and other events had begun to press upon public attention. Since the tragedy Aurea had absolutely refused to drive in the motor, to her Aunt Bella’s great annoyance; she was painfully anxious to have it in daily use, for she feared that being the cause of a man’s death might depreciate the car’s value! And when the girl announced she would never get into it again, she was furious, and her face assumed a dull red shade as she asked-- “Do you mean to tell me that, if there’s an accident to a carriage, or if a cart runs over somebody, that cart is never to be used? How could people get on?” she demanded. “I never heard of such affected nonsense. And now I suppose you will go and give my nice car a bad name? As if it could help the madman throwing himself under it!”