He had fully expected that he would bring Editha as a bride to Wycliffe, and he had tried to school his own heart to bear it. He saw at once that there was some deep trouble on his mind; no one ever had such heavy hollow eyes, such a worn, haggard face, without some adequate cause. But, as Earle did not offer any explanation for it, he could not question him. And so the days went by, while he began to mature his plans for his own future. Earle at once entered upon his duties as master of Wycliffe, and was received most heartily by all the adherents of the former marquis, and soon gained an influence and footing in the country which ought to have satisfied the most exacting. He was _feted_ and flattered, quoted, advised, and sought after; but never for a moment did he forget that sad white face that for a few minutes had lain on his breast for the last time, nor the last heart-broken farewell and the low-murmured “God ever bless and keep you.” But the time came when he had to fight another mighty battle with himself. His hopes for the future had all been destroyed by a single blow; but Paul Tressalia still loved Editha, he knew, and there might be a ray of hope for him. The question arose within him, “Ought he not to tell him of the change in the relations which existed between Editha and himself, and if there was the shadow of a possibility of his winning her love, ought he not to allow him to put it to the test?” One day he sought him, with a pale, worn face. He had conquered a mighty foe—himself. He remembered that Editha had once told him, when speaking of her refusal of Mr. Tressalia’s offer of marriage, that “she had never suffered more at the thought of giving pain than she did in refusing him.” Some one has written, “Pity melts the mind to love,” and perchance, out of her sympathy for him, something of affection might arise, and a life of quiet happiness be gained for her as well as for his cousin. “Paul, I have something of importance to communicate to you,” he said, coming to the point at once. “Say on, then; are you in trouble? Can I do anything for you?” Mr. Tressalia asked, with an anxious glance into the worn face. “No, there is nothing that you or any one else can do for me; it is to give you a chance in the race after happiness that I come to you,” Earle answered, with something of bitterness in his tone. “I do not understand you,” he returned, a flush rising to his cheek. “Do you still love Editha Dalton?” Earle asked, setting his teeth to keep back a rebellious groan. “Do you need to ask me that question?” Paul Tressalia, returned, reproachfully, his face suddenly paling now. “I must always love her.” “Then go and win her if you can; the way is open; there is nothing to hinder you,” Earle said, wiping the cold sweat from his face.