He spoke the truth. More than that, the pang inflicted by the communication acted as a process of disillusion on him. The deception of which Lady Bell stood convicted upon her own showing, the new character in which she appeared, robbed him of his faith in her, nipped in the bud the love which was born of single-hearted homage, and cured him by a sharp cure of his brief passion. The spell of Lady Bell’s attractions was broken for Master Charles. She could no longer shine in his eyes as a bright particular star. For a time after her confession he avoided her, and was restless, cross, and unhappy in his mind, pining more than ever for his colours and his marching day. But Master Charles’s healthy nature reasserted itself speedily,—the more speedily that his pursuit of Miss Barlowe had still been full of the idealism of an uncorrupted youthful manhood, of a dreamy delight in the present, and a vague grasp of the future. First he returned with renewed zest to his old interests and occupations. Then he gradually wore back to the original friendly footing, free now from all uncertainty and double meaning, on which he had been with Lady Bell. She witnessed the change, and was a little mystified, a little mortified; but being true to herself and him, she was easily reconciled to it. She was not a budding coquette. She was not naturally weak, though girlishly weak. She had been more sinned against than sinning. She had not forgotten Lady Lucie’s lessons of religion and virtue, however she had swerved from them; and that remembrance, even in the middle of perversity and shortsightedness, with grace given her, prevented her from falling. But she had even been saved from the temptation of loving her young squire, so that she could afford to be thankful that he had soon ceased to love her, and was willing to be no more than her friend. CHAPTER XIX. AN OLD FRIEND. The white hoar frost which had given a fairy-like beauty to the old orchard trees of Nutfield had long melted away, and was replaced by the first powdering and fluttering of green on the grey gnarled boughs. The birds which Lady Bell had fed no longer came hopping to door and windowsill, but, independent of her bounty, and forgetful of past favours, broke off the acquaintance, and gave themselves up to satisfactory poking for worms in the soft earth, to energetic pecking at the first midges and green flies, and to the absorbing delights of pairing. Summer company might be anticipated to fill the spare rooms at Nutfield. But Miss Kingscote, though not so graceful and winning in her ways as Lady Bell’s feathered friends, was more faithful, and less carried away by the claims of her personal history, in the association which had remained unbroken since Lady Bell had communicated the fact of her marriage.