He shook his head emphatically as he said, “I can only wait a short time. I am going off now to a place forty miles away, to live with my father.” “Your father!” she repeated, incredulously. “Yes, my uncle adopted me when my father married again. My father is Major Jervis, he has lived in these hills for some years. I never knew his whereabouts until recently. The night of the ball he sent for me, he believed that he was dying, and I went off at once--I found him very ill, and quite alone and desolate. I am going to keep him company for the rest of his days. You see, he has no one in the world belonging to him but me.” “Well, I declare!” said Mrs. Brande, after a pause. “It is awfully good of you, that I will say; but if you are your uncle’s adopted son, how will _he_ take it?” “Badly, I am afraid, but I cannot be in two places; my uncle has a wife, and heaps of friends, and money, and first rate health.” “Make your father come in to Shirani; we will put him up; and why not get him to go home?” “It would be of no use to urge him to either step; he is a fixture in his present home for as long as he lives.” “Well, at least you will often come in and see us--_you_ are not a fixture!” she urged eagerly. “Mrs. Brande, you are very good--I shall never forget all your kindness to me--but as far as I can see, I shall never come back to Shirani again. My father could not spare me, for one thing--and for another,” and there was a ring of passion in his voice as he added, “I could not endure it. Think of me, as companion to an invalid, with every moment occupied,” and here his words sounded a little husky. “Do not tempt me.” “Oh, Mark, my boy, I am so sorry!” she exclaimed; “to think that this is good-bye--that we shall not see you again.” Mark told himself that this so-called underbred, vulgar woman had accepted the news of the shattering of her niece’s fortune in a manner that no duchess could have surpassed. Apparently it was not the loss of position, of thousands a year, that had cut her up--she had stood that with marvellous stoicism--it was the loss of Mark himself! “You know, of course, what my hopes were,” he said, glancing towards Honor, who stood at the far end of the verandah, gazing out at what--? “There is an end to them now. Some explanation is due to you and Mr. Brande, and I will write. She need never know _all_. Let people in Shirani suppose what they please, as long as it does not reflect on _her_. Our engagement was never given out--it was a mere matter of hours. My father is peculiar, he wishes to keep his name and existence a secret--you will understand all--later on.”