I could have said, "Ah! mother, how do you learn what the world says of us?--who dares tell _you_ these things?" I was not aware then that Lyle, in his own specious, deprecatory way, was her informant, directly or indirectly--"grieving to set such unpleasant truths before her, but deeming it his duty to do so." You will wonder that a clever woman like my mother did not see through this systematic deceit; but she was bitterly annoyed at the issue of Clarence Fairfax's attentions to me; she fancied herself pointed at by the finger of pity--you know how sensitive she is on this point--and she was impatient at my belief that Clarence had loved me. "Had he ever told me so seriously? Was I blind enough to believe him in earnest? He had never loved me; his regard, such as it was, was contemptible." More, much more, she said--I admitted that Clarence had never been my acknowledged lover; but-- "Are there no looks, mute, but most eloquent?" I confessed that he was fickle--"And vain?"--"Yes." "And selfish, and heartless, and unprincipled!" I could not answer these allegations--I dared not say he had been the victim of a vicious woman, years older than himself, and deeply versed in intrigue. I had once ventured to speak in this strain, and had drawn forth words of scorn and anger, which my mother afterwards repented using, but which I ever dreaded to evoke again. But the climax of Lyle's art lay in an incident I shall record. My father and I were riding one day, sauntering through a kloof, when we were overtaken by him. At the end of this kloof was a branch of a rapid stream. Here it was deep and dangerous; but my horse and I knew the ford well--Lyle rode a little behind me. In the middle of the stream my horse began to plunge among the stones--my father was a few yards in advance; he could not easily turn to my aid, owing to the strength of the current--I was alarmed, yet tried to restrain the animal, but he plunged the more; Lyle, with his powerful arm, drew me from my saddle, and bore me before him safely across the drift--my horse was swept down--it is the same old grey we pet sometimes; he was found two days after, hanging to a branch by his bridle, having found a footing on the bank. Can you conceive a man afterwards boasting of this trick? It was Lyle who had made the animal plunge that he might rescue me, and thus place me under a supposed obligation for my life! ------------------------------------------------------------------------