He sighed delicately. Through the girl's stormy sense there ran a dumb rush of thoughts--"Insolent! ungrateful! He wounds the heart that loved him--and then dares to discuss--to blame!" But before she could find something to say aloud, her companion resumed. "But I must not complain. I was honoured by a superior man's friendship. He has withdrawn it. He has the right.--Now I must look to the future. You will, I think, be glad to hear that I am not in that destitute condition which generally awaits the Catholic deserter. My prospects indeed seem to be secured." And with a vanity which did not escape her, he described the overtures that had been made to him by the editor of a periodical which was to represent "the new mystical school"--he spoke familiarly of great artists, and especially French ones, murdering the French names in a way that at once hurt the girl's ears, and pleased her secret spite against him--he threw in a critic or two without the Mr.--and he casually mentioned a few lords as persons on whom genius and necessity could rely. All this in a confidential and appealing tone, which he no doubt imagined to be most suitable to women, especially young women. Laura thought it impertinent and unbecoming, and longed to be rid of him. At last the turning to the Friedlands' house appeared. She stood still, and stiffly wished him good-bye. But he retained her hand and pressed it ardently. "Oh! Miss Fountain--we have both suffered!" * * * * * The girl could hardly pacify herself enough to go in. Again and again she found a pleasure in those words of her French novel that she had repeated to Helbeck long ago: "_Imagination faussée et troublée--faussée et troublée_." No delicacy--no modesty--no compunction! Her own poor heart flew to Bannisdale. She thought of all that the Squire had suffered in this man's cause. Outrage--popular hatred--her own protests and petulances,--all met with so unbending a dignity, so inviolable a fidelity, both to his friend and to his Church! She recalled that scarred brow--that kind and brotherly affection--that passionate sympathy which had made the heir of one of the most ancient names in England the intimate counsellor and protector of the wheelwright's son. Popinjay!--renegade!--to come to her talking of "bigotry"--without a breath of true tenderness or natural remorse. Williams had done that which she had angrily maintained in that bygone debate with Helbeck he had every right to do. And she had nothing but condemnation. She walked up and down the shady road, her eyes blinded with tears. One more blow upon the heart that she herself had smitten so hard! Sympathy for this new pain took her back to every incident of the old--to every detail of that hideous week which had followed upon her flight. How had she lived through it? Those letters--that distant voice in Dr. Friedland's study--her own piteous craving----