It was a strange way of hating, but she told herself that it was hate, and on this particular day the coming of Luke's letter had seemed to strengthen her, and she began planning what she would say in return; how she would give him good advice about his housekeeping, say words of encouragement to him about his studies, and praise his determination. For was he not striving with all his might; had he not determined upon this long struggle for position that he might win her? And how could she do anything but love him? Dear Luke! Indeed she would be true to him, and write him such encouraging letters--help him all she could. It was her duty now, for though they were not regularly affianced with her friends' sanction, she told herself that her promise to him was sacred. "Yes," she said, half aloud, as she walked thoughtfully on, "I love Luke very dearly, and that other was all a bad, feverish kind of dream, and I'll never think about it more. It was wicked of Mr Cyril, knowing what he does, and weak of me, and never again--Oh!" "Did I make you jump, Sage?" said a low voice; and Cyril came from the gate over which he had been leaning, and jerked the stump of a cigar away. "I--I did not see you, Mr Cyril," she said, faintly, and the tears sprang to her eyes. "And I frightened the poor little thing, did I? There, I'll be more careful next time; but, oh, what a while you have been." "Don't stop me, Mr Cyril," she said, with trembling voice; "I must hurry home." "Well, you shall directly; but, Sage, don't please be so hard and cruel to me. You know how humble and patient I have been, and yet you seem to be one day warm, the next day cold, and the third day hot and angry with me. What have I done?" "I do not understand you, Mr Cyril," she said, trying to speak sternly, and walking on towards the farm. "Then I will speak more plainly," he said, suddenly dropping the bantering tone in which he had addressed her for one full of impassioned meaning. "Sage, I love you with all my heart, and when you treat me with such cruel coldness, it makes me half mad, and I say to you as I say now, what have I done?" "Oh, hush! hush!" she panted. "You must not speak to me like that. Mr Cyril, I beg--I implore you--never to address me again. You know--you must know--that I am engaged to Mr Ross." "Engaged to Mr Ross!" he said, bitterly. "It is not true. There is no engagement between you." "It is true," she panted, hurrying on, and trembling for her weakness, as she felt how strongly her heart was pleading for him, who kept pace with her, and twice had laid his hand, as if to stop her, upon her arm. "I have your aunt's assurance that it is not true," he continued; "and I have hoped, Sage, I have dared to believe, that you were not really fond of this man." "Mr Cyril, I beg--I implore you to leave me," she cried.