'I am much obleeged to you, my dear. Mr Lambert considers Mr Henderson's nephew a very respectable young man. I have no objections to your keeping his company--he is, of course, in your own class of life,' she said significantly. 'What have you done with the posy, Bryda,' Jack asked. 'It was far too big to carry with me, so I put the poor flowers in water. Now let us go up on the Downs. I am in the mood for a long stroll. Don't be cross about the posy, Jack.' 'I am not cross that I know of,' was the reply. Then there was a long climb to the heights above the Hot Wells, and at last, on the vantage ground where the old snuff-mill stood, now the well-known observatory, the two sat down on a boulder of limestone to rest. There were no houses near, thus nothing interrupted the view in any direction. The budding woods on the other side of the great gorge, now spanned by the famous Suspension Bridge, were just wearing their first delicate veil of emerald. Away, far away, the blue mountains of the Welsh coast stood out against the clear sky, and the sloping sides of the Mendips, where Dundry Tower stands like a sentinel on guard over the city, were bathed in the soft radiance of the April day, while now and again the chime of bells was borne on the breeze. For some minutes both were silent, Jack toying with the small pebbles at his feet, Bryda gazing out at the hills where her home lay hid, and forgetting poor Jack's presence in her own meditation. Jack was the first to break the silence. There had sprung up between him and Bryda, since Christmas, a certain reserve which seemed to raise a barrier between him and his fondest hopes. 'I say, Bryda,' he began, 'I am very unhappy. Can't you give me a kind word?' 'Why, Jack, what is the matter?' she said carelessly. 'I thought I was unhappy this morning, but now I think no one ought to be sad to-day. So the bells tell me. Hearken!' 'I am sad, though,' poor Jack rejoined. 'I love you, Bryda. You must know it. I have loved you all my life--I shall love you till I die. I am tied to this silversmith's business--but my uncle has no children, he takes more kindly to me than he did, and the last year I have pleased him better. When he dies I shall come into the business, and then--' Bryda turned and looked straight into Jack's frank, honest face. She tried to speak lightly. 'So after all, Jack, your mother was right, and you will be a Bristol alderman some day, or perhaps mayor.' Jack's foot gave an impatient kick against the pebbles beneath it. 'What has that to do with the question?' he said. 'Bryda, can you care for me? Can you love me? That's the real question.' 'Jack, I have always cared for you, you know that. Now let us talk of something else.'