It was even so. Ellen's better judgment acknowledged it, in the midst of her great wish to be away. A wish: and not a wish. To be where Arthur Bohun was, still brought her the most intense happiness; and this, in spite of the pain surrounding it, she would not willingly have relinquished: but the cruelty of his conduct--of their estrangement--was more than she knew how to bear. It was making her ill, and she felt that it was. There was, however, no help for it. As Richard said, she had no friends to whom they could entrust her. The lady in whose house she was educated had recently died, and the establishment was being broken up. Ten times a-day she longed to say to Arthur Bohun, "You are ungenerous to remain here. I cannot help myself, but you might." But pride withheld her. "It may be months before papa arrives, Richard." "And if it should be! We must try to make you happier with us." "I think I must go in," she said, after a pause. "The day has been very fine, but it is growing cold now." Folding the shawl closer to her throat, as if she felt chilly, and coughing a little as she walked, Ellen went round to the hall-door and entered. Richard, occupied in watching her and busy with his own thoughts, did not perceive the almost silent approach of Arthur Bohun, who came slowly up from behind. "Well, Dick, old fellow!" "Why, where did you spring from?" asked Richard, as Arthur flung himself down in the place vacated by Ellen. "I have been under yonder tree, smoking a cigar. It has a good broad trunk to lean against." "I thought the doctors had forbidden you to smoke." "So they have. Until I grew stronger. One can't strictly obey orders. I don't suppose it matters much one way or the other. You have been enjoying a confidential chat, Dick." "Yes," replied Richard. He had not felt very friendly in his heart towards Arthur for some time past. What was the meaning of his changed behaviour to Ellen Adair?--what of the new friendship with Mary Dallory? Richard North could not forgive dishonour; and he believed Arthur Bohun was steeping himself in it to the backbone. "Were you making love, Dick?" Richard turned his eyes in silence on the questioner. "She and I have had to part, Dick. I always thought you admired and esteemed her almost more, perhaps quite more, than you do any other woman. So if you are thinking of her----" "Be silent," sternly interrupted Richard, rising in anger. "Are you a man?--are you a gentleman? Or are you what I have been thinking you lately--a false-hearted, despicable knave?" Whatever Arthur Bohun might be, he was just then in desperate agitation. Rising too, he seized Richard's hands. "Don't you see that it was but sorry jesting, Richard? Pretending to a bit of pleasantry, to wile away for a moment my weight of torment. I am all that you say of me; and I cannot help myself." "Not help yourself?"