“I think I could tell you a nearer one,” she said, with a gentle pressure of her hand on his, that told him she read his very heart; and then she added, with grave kindness, “Then I suppose we must let duty carry the day. We shall miss you dreadfully.” Macpherson raised her hand with reverent affection to his lips, but he could not say a word. When the rest came home from their walk he was gone. Privately Mrs. Echalaz told Robert what had passed, and what she construed it to mean. “Well, why not?” was his comment. “Why not!” echoed his mother, raising hands and eyes. “Of course I like him. I never met a man to whom I would sooner have trusted Lily’s happiness, but _of course_ it’s impossible.” “Why?” asked Robert, simply. “My dear boy!” exclaimed Mrs. Echalaz, “you know he has nothing. And think of the connection! Preposterous!” “A fig for the connection!” rejoined Robert, coolly; “and as for money, Lily has quite enough, I suppose. Ask _her_.” “Oh, you’re perfectly ridiculous!” cried his mother, with a vehemence that convinced him she was already wavering in her own mind, and he said no more. Meanwhile Macpherson went home, and the first thing that recalled him unmistakably to common earth was the sight of his one servant, a ragged, barefooted, scantily clad, unkempt lassie of eleven or so, who opened the door to him with exceedingly dirty hands, a grin of cheerful welcome on her broad unwashed face. It was like waking from a sunny dream to find oneself lying in the dark; rain beating on the window, the gusty night wind shaking the door; and to feel the thrill of some sharp pain—pain that makes a loneliness for flesh and spirit such as no human heart may share, but is known to God alone. He nodded to the child, and going past her into his study, shut the door behind him. The sand slipped and grated under his feet, the smell of peat-smoke and cookery was unabated. He sat down at his table, where in that long past other life of his he had spent so many busy happy hours, and hid his face on his folded arms, trying to let the influence and memory of the last weeks go by; trying hard to put it away and brace himself to the old work again.