She gazed in his face at this, and a score more such questions repeated themselves, while the answers seemed far away. "Go up to the rectory to-day, uncle?" she faltered at last. "I dare not go." "But I wish you to go," he said, decidedly, and Sage's heart gave one great joyful throb. Had it been left to her she would have stayed away, but her uncle wished her to go--he literally bade her go. The end of the matter was, that after being egged on by her aunt to dress herself in the showiest things she possessed, and having the good sense, in spite of the feeling of delirious joy that had taken possession of her, to attire herself with great simplicity, she walked, with fluttering heart, up to the rectory, where the Rev Eli Mallow himself met her at the door with a paternal _empressement_ of manner that was quite tender in its way, as he drew her hand through his arm, and led her up-stairs to Mrs Mallow's room. PART ONE, CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. WELCOMED. Sage trembled as she accompanied the Rector, and in her agitation everything seemed unreal and strange. A mist floated before her eyes, and the room seemed to be sailing round, till she felt herself led to a chair, and a thin, soft, cool hand take hers, drawing her forward, till she bent down, and felt a pair of lips press her cheek, and sigh gently. "I am very glad to see you, Miss Portlock--I think I may call you Sage now." She answered something that was inaudible to herself, feeling angry the while at what she called her awkwardness and confusion, as she longed for confidence, and the power to be more at her ease, little thinking that her timid, modest behaviour was winning a way for her rapidly in the poor invalid's heart; while, in spite of the pride that interfered somewhat with the Rector's generosity of feeling, he could not help thinking that after all, with such a woman for his wife, a change for the better must follow in his son. By degrees Sage grew more composed, especially when the Rector patted her gently on the arm, and asked her to excuse him while he wrote a letter or two for that day's post; "to my daughters in town, my dear," he said; and she was left alone with Mrs Mallow, whose careworn but sweetly-pensive face looked up, smiling tenderly in hers. It was a delightful afternoon, and Sage would have been truly happy if she could have stood out fully in the sunshine instead of in the shadow cast across her thoughts by the remembrance of Luke Ross. Nothing special was said, but it was quite patent to the visitor that all objection to Cyril Mallow's attentions to her had been withdrawn on either side, and that she had been asked up there that Mrs Mallow might welcome her as her son's future wife. Sage's heart beat fast, for she owned to it most fully now. It was wrong. She was faithless, but she did love Cyril, and giving herself up to the current of joyous thoughts, she allowed it to bear her softly on.