(“Did he want to see her? Did he want to see his queen, his star, his goddess?”) Should he give Belle a hint?--No. “Yes, I should like to wish her good-bye.” “She is probably in the garden making herself ill with fruit!” said her cousin ill-naturedly. “Oh, you must not go just yet” (seeing that he was about to rise), biting her lips to retain her composure, “you will not forget us--and you will write often, will you not?” she added desperately; her eyes fixed anxiously on his. “Yes, I shall certainly write; it is very good of you to wish for my letters.” “They will be my only happiness,” was her most embarrassing reply; “you won’t forget me, will you, George?” she whispered. George rose hastily, this conference was too personal to be pleasant; this pretty little woman, with the tragic dark eyes, was becoming a nuisance. “I hate saying good-bye,” holding out his hand as he spoke. “But I must be making a start, my train goes at five o’clock, and I have not much time to lose.” “Oh, you have an hour still; it won’t take you more than half that time to get to the station,” she pleaded in a strangled voice. (Yes, quite true, but he had yet to see Betty, and every moment was priceless.) “I must really go,” he said firmly, “I have business at Bridgetstown.” Belle stood up as white as a ghost, and gazed at him despairingly. It was not alone George Holroyd who was going, it was her life, her hopes, her future; she felt more than half inclined to throw herself into his arms, but something in his face arrested her intention, and she merely gave him her hand, and turning away her face, sank in a heap upon the sofa, in a storm of hysterical tears--and George escaped. To look back would have been to emulate Lot’s wife; to linger was destruction. As he left the house, he gazed anxiously about him, and then he descried a welcome trio--three little white dogs trotting along from the direction of the garden, and presently a tall, girlish figure carrying on her arm a good-sized basket of strawberries. A lovely colour came into her face as she recognised him. He seized her hand eagerly, and said: “I was afraid I might miss you! I got sudden orders, and I start to-morrow, so I just ran down to say good-bye to _you_.” He still retained her hand in his, whilst the dogs sat round, staring at him affectionately, as if giving the young couple their countenance and consent; the little group was commanded by the drawing-room windows, but, luckily for them, Belle’s jealous eyes were buried in the sofa cushions. “Will you walk down to the gate?” he asked, releasing her hand, and taking the basket. “I left the car there--I have still to go up the town, and my time is very, very short.”