His only answer was to pass his hand softly, nay, almost reverently, over the little head, still fair and graceful, though “the pretty brown hair,” poor Ralph had long ago admired, was sadly decreased in thickness and richness. Marion did not shrink away from Geoffrey’s hand. They happened at the moment to be alone. She looked up in his face, and saw there the words all but uttered on his lips. Though in a sense she had brought it on herself, yet now she shrank from it, felt that as yet, at least, she could not bear it. With some half excuse she turned away quickly, and left the room. But what she had seen in Geoffrey’s face that afternoon decided her that something must be done, some resolution arrived at in her own mind, as it was easy to see that the present state of things could not long continue. It was now the beginning of May. Fully two months had elapsed since the ride to Brackley, and the commencement of her long illness. Spring was coming on apace, and the outside world looked very bright and sweet that evening, as Marion sat by Veronica’s couch in the bow-window of the little drawing-room. There was a half-formed resolution in the girl’s mind for once to break through her rule of reserve, and seek the advice of the true and wise friend beside her. For some minutes they had been silent: suddenly Marion spoke. “Do you know, Miss Veronica, that I have been here nearly three weeks? Soon I must he thinking of the Cross House again.” Miss Temple laid her hand caressingly on. Marion’s. “My poor child!” she said. “But surely there is no hurry. I wish I could keep you here always; but with the prospect of my sister’s coming to me for the winter, I cannot do so. I hoped, however, that Harry would have had a day or two to spend with you, before you return to Miss Tremlett’s. Is there no chance of it? He must be so anxious to see you since your illness.” “There is not a chance of his coming till June,” said Marion; “and then it will be a real goodbye! He is sure to go abroad immediately. No, dear Miss Veronica, it is very horrible, but I must be thinking of going. That dreadful life at my aunt’s! So you know, rather than go on with it, I sometimes wish I had died last month.” Miss Veronica made no reply. Then she said, very softly and timidly: “My darling Marion, forgive me if I appear officious or intrusive. But, I am sure that, you know there is another home open to you, whose owner would think himself blessed beyond measure to welcome you to it. He has told me of his disappointment. Are you quite sure, my dear child, that there can never be any hope for him, that you can never bring yourself to think favourably of this?” Marion looked up into her companion’s face (she was sitting on the ground at Veronica’s side), with a slight smile. She appeared perfectly composed, her colour did not vary in the least. Miss Temple was far more embarrassed than she.