"How was it," asked Doris, gently--"how was it that Susan could hear on good authority that you were going to marry a Doncaster lady?" "Well, if you must know," said Bernard, "my mother set her heart on the match, and she was always having the girl over and trying to leave us together, and taking her with us everywhere, and she must have spread it about that we were engaged; so I daresay she told Susan the same thing." "Which would account for Susan’s saying that she had the news on good authority," interposed Doris. "But tell me, was the girl rich? And did you like her?" and she looked searchingly at Bernard. "Yes, she was very well off," he admitted, "and she was nice enough; but of course I did not love her, for I love you." "It’s very, _very_ sad," said Doris, the tears rising to her eyes as she spoke. "But, dear Bernard, there is nothing to be done. It is too late! Too late!" "Oh, but it is not. You are not married yet. You will have to break with Sinclair." "I cannot. He is a good and honourable man, and he loves me. I cannot break my promise and make him miserable." "But your engagement was made upon false premises: you thought I was faithless, and I was not. Everything must be explained to Sinclair, and as a man of honour he will feel bound to release you." Doris shook her head. "I cannot make him miserable," she said. It was in vain Bernard argued and pleaded, he could get no concession at all from the poor distracted girl, who simply repeated in different words her one cry, "I cannot, dear, I cannot be your wife." The young man became angry, at length, at her unreasonableness, as he called it, declaring that she could not love him as much as he loved her, or she would not see such great difficulties in the way of their union; and when, upon his adding that he would see Mr. Sinclair and thrash the matter out with him, she said that she could not consent to that, he got quite out of patience with her, and, saying goodbye rather coldly, went away towards the railway station, with the intention of taking the next train for London. *CHAPTER XXIII.* *ALICE SINCLAIR’S INTERVENTION.* It never could be kind, dear, to give a needless pain: It never could be honest, dear, to sin for greed again, And there could not be a world, dear, while God is true above, When right and wrong are governed by any law but love. _Anon_. Bernard Cameron was hurrying along towards the station when he met Alice Sinclair. The girl looked immensely surprised to see him there, and immediately exclaimed: "What? You here, Mr. Cameron? Why, I left you in charge of Miss Anderson until I returned. I was on my way back, now," she added. "I am off by the next train to town," said Bernard, in very injured tones. "I was a fool," he added, bitterly, "to come down here at all."