It was a fine fresh morning; the coachman drove fast; the air fanned her cheek; the motion was enlivening; the horses's hoofs rang quick and clear upon the road. Fresh objects met the eye every moment. Her heart was as sad and aching as before, but there arose a faint encouraging sense that some day she might be better, or things might take some turn. When they had rolled about ten miles she said, in a low voice, “Harrington.” “Well?” “You were right. Cooping one's self up is the way to go mad.” “Of course it is.” “I feel a little better now--a very little.” “I am glad of it.” But he was not hearty, and she said no more. He was extremely attentive to her all the journey, and, indeed, had never been half so polite to her. This, however, led to a result he did not intend nor anticipate. Zoe, being now cool, fell into a state of compunction and dismay. She saw his affection leaving her for _her,_ and stiff politeness coming instead. She leaned forward, put her hands on his knees, and looked, all scared, in his face. “Harrington,” she cried, “I was wrong. What is Aunt Maitland to me? You are my all. Bid him turn the horses' heads and go home.” “Why, we are only six miles from the place.” “What does that matter? We shall have had a good long drive together, and I will dine with you after it; and I will ride or drive with you every day, if you will let me.” Vizard could not help smiling. He was disarmed. “You impulsive young monkey,” said he, “I shall do nothing of the kind. In the first place, I couldn't turn back from anything; I'm only a man. In the next place, I have been thinking it over, as you have; and this is a good move of ours, though I was a little mortified at first. Occupation is the best cure of love, and this old lady will find you plenty. Besides, nursing improves the character. Look at that frivolous girl Fanny, how she has come out. And you know, Zoe, if you get sick of it in a day or two, you have only to write to me, and I will send for you directly. A short absence, with so reasonable a motive as visiting a sick aunt, will provoke no comments. It is all for the best.” This set Zoe at her ease, and brother and sister resumed their usual manners. They reached Miss Maitland's house, and were admitted to her sick-room. She was really very ill, and thanked them so pathetically for coming to visit a poor lone old woman that now they were both glad they had come. Zoe entered on her functions with an alacrity that surprised herself, and Vizard drove away. But he did not drive straight home. He had started from Vizard Court with other views. He had telegraphed Lord Uxmoor the night before, and now drove to his place, which was only five miles distant. He found him at home, and soon told him his errand. “Do you remember meeting a young fellow at my house, called Severne?” “I do,” said Lord Uxmoor, dryly enough. “Well, he has turned out an impostor.”