She had denied the insinuation with scorn, but what if he really thought it? What if her imprudent generosity, always too prone to buckle on harness for another, were to be construed wrongly--what if in his eyes she should already have humiliated herself? With what sternness he had rebuked her judgment of her father; with him, want of dutifulness and reverence were heinous sins that nothing could excuse; she remembered how he had ever praised meekness in women, and how, when she had laughingly denied all claim to that virtue, he had answered her half sadly, 'No, you are not meek, and never will be, until trouble has broken your spirit: you are too aggressive by nature to wear patiently the "ornament of a meek and quiet spirit;"' and she remembered how that half-jesting, half-serious speech had troubled her. Ethel's feeling for Dr. Heriot had been the purest hero-worship; she had been proud of his friendship, and the loss of it under any circumstances would have troubled her sadly; she had never blinded herself to the fact that more than this would be impossible. Already her keen eyes had lighted on his probable choice, some one who should bring meekness in lieu of beauty, and fill his home with the sunshiny sweetness of her smile. 'She will be a happy woman, whoever she is,' thought Ethel, with a sigh, not perfectly free from envy; there were so few men who were good as well as wise, 'and this was one,' she said to herself, and a flood of sadness came over her as she remembered that speech about her lack of meekness. If he could only think well of her--if she had not lost caste in his eyes, she thought, it might still be well with her, and in a half-sad, half-jesting way she had pictured her life as Ethel Trelawny always, 'walking in maiden meditation fancy free,' a little solitary, perhaps, a trifle dull, but wiser and better when the troublesome garb of youth was laid aside, and she could--as in very honesty she longed to do now--call all men her brothers. But the proud maidenly reserve was stabbed at all points; true, or untrue, Ethel was writhing under those sneering words. Richard found her, on his return, standing white and motionless by the window; her eyes had a plaintive look in them as of a wild animal too much hurt to defend itself; her pale cheeks alarmed him. 'Why do you agitate yourself so? there is no cause! Dr. Heriot has just told me it is a mere quarrel that may be healed any time.' 'It is not that--it is those bitter cruel words,' she returned, in a strange, far-away voice; 'that one's own father should say such things,' and then her lip quivered, and two large tears welled slowly to her eyes. Ah, there was the secret stab--her own father! 'My dear Miss Trelawny--Ethel--I cannot bear to see you like this. You are overwrought--all this has upset you. Come into the air and let us talk a little.' 'What is there to talk about?' she returned dreamily.