“Yes; to you, particularly,” was the reply. “I will bid Arthur ‘good-night,’ and be with you directly,” the other agreed; and accordingly in a few minutes Mr. Croft and he were walking along Berrie Down Lane, past the pond, and under the elms and beeches that sheltered the road beyond. “There is bad blood between us,” began the elder man, after they had paced on for a short distance side by side in silence. “There is bad blood between us, and I am sorry for it; but it is natural that you should both dislike and distrust me.” “Was that what you brought me here to say?” Alick inquired. “No; consider it as my opening sentence,—the stamp with which I have broken the conversational ice; now I can go on. You remember, of course, where you first saw me?” “It is not likely I should soon forget such a pleasure,” was the reply. “You are satirical, but I am shot proof,” Mr. Croft remarked; “you recollect, then, that Sunday afternoon in North Kemms’ church, and the girl who kept her eyes fixed so demurely on her prayer-book, which I had afterwards the happiness of restoring to her?” “And in which you placed a letter,” added Alick. “And in which I placed one of a series of letters,” amended Mr. Croft; “good—you remember her?” “As well as I remember you,” was the reply. “Where is she now?” The moon sailed out from behind a cloud, as suddenly and sharply Mr. Croft put this question, looking full in Alick’s face while he did so. “Where is she now?” the younger man repeated, “why, do _you_ not know?” “If I did, I should not come to you for information. Listen to me,” he rapidly proceeded, “I would give my right hand to know where she is. I would give a man anything almost he liked to ask, if he only proved to me she were alive and well. You were fond of her, were you not, boy? it vexes you to hear that there is no one belonging to her, no one on whom she has a claim—not even myself who can say where she is, whether living or dead; but what is your trouble to mine? When I looked in your face a moment since, my last hope vanished. I thought perhaps she might have gone to Heather—to Mrs. Dudley, I mean.” “Would you have me understand that she never went off with you?” Alick interrupted. He stood still in the very middle of Berrie Down Lane as he spoke, and the shifting light gave a wild, curious expression to his face. “Do you think I am so simple as to believe——” “My dear fellow, I do not think you simple, and it is immaterial to me what you believe; but I want to know where your cousin is to be found. I desire, at least, assurance of her safety, comfort, and—should such a miracle be possible—happiness.” “And by what right do you dare to ask anything about her,” demanded Alick; “you a married man, you who never ought to have written her a line, or met her, or—or——”