The Squire got up from his chair and rang the bell. A servant came in. “Ascertain whether Mr. Bristow is anywhere about the house or grounds; and, if he is, tell him that I should like to see him before he goes.” Mrs. McDermott rose in some alarm. It was no part of her policy to be seen there by Tom. “I am glad you have sent for him,” she said. “I hope matters have not gone too far to be stopped without difficulty.” He looked up in a little surprise. “There will be no difficulty. Why should there be?” he said. “No, of course not. As you say, why should there be? But I must now bid you good-morning for the present. There will be hardly any need, I think, for you to mention my name in the affair.” “There will be no need to mention anybody’s name. Good-morning.” Mrs. McDermott went out and shut the door gently behind her. “Breaking fast, poor man,” she said to herself. “He’s not long for this world, I’m afraid. Well, I’ve the consolation of knowing that I’ve always done a sister’s duty by him. I wonder what he’ll die worth. Thousands, no doubt; and all to go to that proud minx of a Jane. We are not allowed to hate one another, or else I’m afraid I should hate that girl.” She shook her fist at an imaginary Jane, went straight upstairs, and gave her maid a good blowing-up. Some three weeks had now come and gone since Tom, breaking for once through the restraint which had hitherto kept him back, did and said something which made Jane very happy. What he did was to draw her face down to his and kiss it: what he said was simply, “Good-night, my darling.” Nothing more, but quite enough to be understood by her to whom the words were spoken. But since that evening not one syllable more of love had been breathed by Tom. For anything that had since passed between them Jane might have imagined that she had merely dreamt the words—that the speaking of them was nothing more than a fancy of her own lovesick brain. Under similar circumstances many young ladies would have considered themselves aggrieved, and would not have been deemed unreasonable in so thinking, But Jane had no intention whatever of adopting an injured tone even in her own inmost thoughts. She had never been in the habit of looking upon herself in the light of a victim, and she had no intention of beginning to do so now. Surprised—slightly surprised—she might be, but that was all. In Tom’s manner towards her, in the way he looked at her, in the very tone of his voice, there was that indescribable something which gave her the sweet assurance that she was still loved as much as ever. Such being the case, she was well satisfied to wait. She felt that her lover’s silence had a meaning, that he was not dumb without a reason. When the proper time should come he would speak, and to some purpose. Till then Eros should keep a finger on his lips, and speak only the language of the eyes. “So this is the way you treat me, is it, young man?” said the Squire, sternly, as Tom re-entered the room.