"You see, Daisy, the delay is not my fault," spoke Frank. "My uncle has been so very unwell this last week or two, so much worse, that I don't like to urge the change upon him. Only to-day I said to him, 'You know I am wanting to leave you, Uncle Hugh,' and his reply was, 'Do not speak of it just immediately, Frank: let things be as they are a very little longer.' Whilst he is feeling so ill, I scarcely like to worry him." "Of course not," said Daisy. "And as long as I can walk about here with you every evening, Frank, I don't care how long things go on as they are now. It was different when I feared mamma was going to carry me off to the end of the world. It was only that fear, you know, Frank, that made me consent to do what I did that morning. I'm sure I tremble yet when I think how wrong and hazardous it was. Any one might have come into the church." "Where's your wedding-ring, Daisy?" he asked: and it may as well be said that he had never told her some one did come in. "Here," she answered, touching her dress. "It is always there, Frank." "I have written to-day to a friend of mine in London, Daisy, asking if he knows of any good opening for me--or of any old practitioner in a first-class quarter who may be likely to want some younger man to help him. I dare say I shall receive an answer with some news in it in a day or two." "I dare say you will. Who is he, Frank?" "A young fellow named Crisp, who has the best heart in the world. He----" A sudden grasping of his arm by Daisy, just after they had turned in their walk; a visible shrinking, as if she would hide behind him; and a faint idea that he saw some slight movement of the foliage at the other end of the avenue, stopped Frank's further words. "Did you see, Frank?" she whispered. "Did you see?" "I fancied something stirred, down there. What was it?" "It was Tabitha. I am certain of it. I saw her the moment we turned. She might have been watching us ever so long; all the way up the walk; I dare say she _was_ doing so. Oh, Frank, what shall I do? She will go in and tell mamma." "Let her," said Frank. "The worst she can say is, that we were walking arm-in-arm together. I cannot think why you need be so fearful, Daisy. Your mother must know that we do meet out here, and she must tacitly sanction it. She used to know it, and sanction it too." Daisy sighed. Yes, she thought, her mother might, at any rate, suspect that they met. It was not so much _that_ which Daisy feared. But, the one private act she had been guilty of lay heavily on her conscience; and she was ever haunted with the dread that any fresh movement would lead to its betrayal.