But what should the end of it all be? Gerald Eversley, absorbed as yet in his unrevealed passion, could neither admit nor deny that it was hopeless. To speak of it would be to shut the gates of Helmsbury in his own face. Was it probable that Lord Venniker, proud of his rank, proud of his only daughter, as he was, would consent to her union with a penniless student? Could she herself be brought to care for one whose relation to her family was simply that of grateful and profound indebtedness? So Gerald reasoned, and he reasoned rightly; but there was one thing, though he knew it not, which even in Lord Venniker’s eyes might plead for consideration. His rising reputation in the university was not altogether unknown to the family at Helmsbury Hall. It was rumoured--Harry Venniker had heard it from an old schoolfellow whom he met in the country--that Gerald was the best man of his year at Oxford. Already he had won some of the highest academical honours. One of the tutors of Balliol was reported to have said that ‘there was nothing that Eversley could not do, if he liked.’ And in a country house, especially in one where the intellectual life is not cultivated, there is always, even among sportsmen, a faint admiring, if somewhat condescending, respect for a scholar. Harry Venniker himself felt this respect, he had always felt something of it at St. Anselm’s, and his sister shared it to the full. To whom in these circumstances could Gerald Eversley speak of his love? and how could he speak without destroying it by the mere breath of his lips? Should he speak to Miss Venniker herself? It would, he feared, be dishonourable to seek her affection without the knowledge of her father and mother; nor could he suppose that she would listen to him. Was not the world open before her? Who could imagine that she would bestow a thought on him? And if she rejected him---- Or should he tell Lady Venniker? She had been his best friend. He could never repay her tender sympathy in his dark hours. She was like a mother to him; but not a word had she said which indicated that she looked, or could ever look, upon him in any other light than as a son. Once, some little time ago, in talking to him she had made an allusion to Ethel’s future; it was slight and casual, but it showed how little she thought of it as being even possibly connected with his own; the allusion gave him pain, and he turned the conversation away from it. It was only too probable that if he opened his heart to Lady Venniker he would lose her friendship--a friendship indescribably precious to him--without gaining, or being permitted to seek, her daughter’s love.