"Miss Ward, you owe me no gratitude; any one would have done what I did. It is your forgiveness I ought to ask, for I am afraid that in my sympathy and pity I forgot myself." He said this with such difficulty, and in such a constrained tone, that Waveney looked at him in astonishment. Then, as she saw his expression, her head drooped a little. "I do not know what you mean," she said, under her breath. "I cannot explain myself," he returned, hurriedly; "would to heaven that I could. But I think from your manner that you do not misunderstand me. Miss Ward, there is something I want to tell you about myself if you will pardon my egotism. We are good friends, I trust, and if possible I want you to think well of me." Waveney listened silently to this, but she bit her lip to conceal a smile. Was it likely that she of all persons would think ill of him? "I am unfortunately placed," he continued. "All my life circumstances have been too strong for me. Other men can please themselves, but I have never been free to choose my own path. Duties and responsibilities have crowded on me from mere boyhood. Fresh ones have come to me within the last few months." Then Waveney understood that he was speaking of his brother and little Bet, and her attention became almost painful. "I can see no end of it all," he went on--and there was despair in his voice. "It must be years--perhaps many years--before I can think of marrying. I ought to have remembered this--I ought not to have forgotten myself." Then he rose abruptly, and his face was very pale. "Miss Ward, you have been very good to listen to me so patiently, but I must not keep you here any longer; it will not be safe for you." He was standing before her as he spoke, but for a moment she made no reply, only sat with bent head, and her hands folded tightly together in her lap. But as he stooped and put out his hand, as though to help her to rise, she suddenly looked up in his face. "Thank you," she said, quite simply. "You need not fear that I should ever misunderstand one so good and kind;" and then she flushed up, and rose quickly from the bench. "It is too late to go on now, and Miss Harford will be expecting me. Please do not come any farther. There is no need to spoil your walk. Give my love to your sister and little Bet--dear little Bet." "Are you sure? Do you not wish me to accompany you?" he stammered; but she shook her head with a semblance of gaiety. "Oh, no. I shall be at the Red House in five minutes. Good-bye, good-bye." Waveney was in such a desperate hurry that she forgot to shake hands. She almost ran down the little path between the furze-bushes. The thrushes and blackbirds had ceased their songs, and the sunshine had faded from the landscape, but in Waveney's heart there was a strange, new joy.