“She hates me,” he thought; “she is trying to show me how utterly indifferent she is to me. Ah! Hermione, there was no need to be cruel to me. I know now that you will not love me. I shall not ask you again, sweet; I shall dree my weird alone.” She was so still. The bright, gay words that charmed him were no longer heard. He looked at her again, and saw an expression of weariness on her face, as though she were tired and not happy. Bitter thoughts crowded upon him. He loved her so that he could have flung himself under her horse’s feet, yet he felt that she had ruined his life, and, deep in his heart, he cursed the coquetry that had been his blight. He bade her good-morning in the coolest of words. She barely responded; yet, to his surprise, he saw she had grown white to the very lips. “How she must dislike me,” he thought, “that the sight of me is so distasteful to her. How utterly false she was when she offered to be my friend for life, yet my only crime has been to love her.” It was Lord Lorriston who rode up to him next, with a hearty greeting. “Where have you been, Sir Ronald? We all thought you were lost. My wife and Lady Hermione were growing quite anxious, fearing you were ill.” “They are very kind,” he replied, thinking in his heart how quick were all women to deceive. She had received an offer of marriage from him, to which she had replied in barely courteous terms. She knew perfectly well why he never came near Leeholme, why he shunned and avoided them all; yet she had listened to the wonder expressed, and had said nothing. To the parents who trusted her so implicitly she had made no mention of a fact that a true and loving daughter seldom conceals. She was false to every one alike, and yet he had believed her so good, so true, so earnest. Her face was so fair and pure; yet the shy, timid looks she had given him were all false as her words. He said little in reply to the friendly greetings that met him on all sides. Clarice was the last to address him. She was somewhat behind the other riders, and Captain Thringston was by her side. She held out her hands to him with a look that said more than a volume of words. “I have been wishing to see you,” she said, in a low voice; and then a flush crimsoned the proud, passionate beauty of her face. Captain Thringston seemed to have an instinctive idea that he would be quite as agreeable to Miss Severn if he rode a little ahead. “I hardly know if I dare speak to you, though we are old playfellows, Sir Ronald,” she began. “There is very little that you cannot say to me, Clarice,” he said, kindly. “Dare I tell you that I know--that is, I can guess--what has happened, and that you have my truest, warmest and deepest sympathy?” “You are very kind,” he replied, “but I would rather not discuss the matter with you; it is best left alone.”