Nevertheless, the experienced matron surmised danger to the match which she would gladly bring about between her daughter and Harcourt; and instead of fearing, as was the case with the latter and Lottie, she hoped that Miss Martell would be very grateful to Hemstead. And so she appeared to be, for she talked to him so enchantingly, and for a time absorbed him so completely, that Lottie entered unobserved, and remained so a few moments. Then his eyes, that from the moment he gained composure had seemed in quest of something, lighted on her as she sat a little back of him, apparently absorbed in her fancy-work. He wanted to speak to her, and yet what could he say before them all? The telltale color was again in his face, and his wretched diffidence returned. Neither courtesy nor his heart would permit him to ignore her and continue his conversation with Miss Martell. And yet it had seemed easier to go in a boat out among the ice than to think of any proper way to recognize the presence of one in whose eyes he had a morbid anxiety to appear well. Lottie saw his dilemma, and, while she too began to blush absurdly, would not help him, and her head bent lower than ever over her work. "Serves him right," she thought. "If he had only met me in the hall, I might--well, I wouldn't have been an icicle." At last Hemstead concluded that he could safely say "good morning"; and he did so in a very awkward manner over his shoulder. "Did you speak to me?" asked Lottie, as if suddenly aroused. "Yes," he replied, under the painful necessity of repeating something that had sounded very flat in the first place, "I said good morning." "O, excuse me. As it is so late I bid you good afternoon." Her manner as well as her words so quenched poor Hemstead that he did not venture another syllable; and thus Lottie and her "true knight" had the meeting to which, in remembrance of their parting, both had looked forward with strange thrills of expectation. But in the light of their flaming cheeks Miss Martell caught a glimpse of their hearts; and Mrs. Marchmont was again led to fear that more was going on than should be permitted by so good a manager as herself. The dinner-bell soon brought welcome relief to all, breaking the spell of awkward constraint. CHAPTER XXVIII. THE TRAIL OF LOVE. Miss Martell improved visibly, for a most depressing fear had been removed. Though Harcourt might not return her love, he had not proved himself unworthy of it, by actual cowardice, or even by unmanly regard for personal ease. It also appeared that more than general philanthropy must have spurred him on, or he could not have acted as if "beside himself." The hungry heart will take even the crumbs of regard that fall from the hand which alone can satisfy. The thought that her old friend and playmate had been far from indifferent to her fate was like a subtile, exhilarating wine to Miss Martell.