But, although behaving his best, Reginald Trevor had not prospered in his suit; on the contrary received a check which brought it to an abrupt ending for the time, and it might be for ever. This in the shape of a hint that his visits to Hollymead House were neither welcome nor desirable, rather the reverse. Not given him by the girl herself--she did not even know of it,--but conveyed by her father privately and quietly, yet firmly. Of course it was taken, and the visits discontinued. That was but a fortnight ago, and yet Reginald Trevor was once more on his way to Hollymead! But very different the cause carrying him thither now to that which had oft taken him before; different his feelings, too, though not as regarded the young lady. For her they were the same--his passion hot as ever. And yet was it a flame burning blindly, without a word of encouragement to fan or keep it alive. Never once had she spoken to tell him his love was reciprocated; never given him smile or look that could be interpreted in that sense. For all this, he so interpreted some she had bestowed on him. Successes, conquests many, had made him vain, and he deemed himself irresistible--fancied he would conquer her, too. Nevertheless, he felt less confident now. That rupture of relations had become a grievous obstacle. Nor was he on the way to Hollymead with any hope of being able to bind up the broken threads; instead, his errand thither had for object that which was sure further to sever them. It was not of his own seeking, and he had entered upon it with reluctance. Dark and gloomy was the shadow on his face as he rode under that of the trees. At intervals it became a scowl, with resentment blazing up in his eyes, as he thought of that dismissal, so wounding to his self-esteem, so insulting. But he was armed with that which would give him a _revanche_; make the master of Hollymead humble if not hospitable--a document such as has humbled the master of many another house, angering them at the same time. For it was a letter of request for a loan, signed and stamped with the King's seal. CHAPTER SEVEN. A YOUNG LADY NOT IN LOVE. "I do believe it's Reginald Trevor." Sabrina said this in rejoinder, now certain it was not the man she had climbed that hill in hopes of meeting. "I'm sure of it," affirmed Vaga, in confident tone as before. "If I couldn't tell him, I can the horse--the light grey he always rides. And that's his dress--the colour at least. I don't think he has many changes, exquisite as he is, or we'd have seen some of them at Hollymead." She made this remark with a smile of peculiar significance. "Oh! yes; 'tis he," assented the sister, her eyes still upon him. "I'm sure now, myself. The horse--yes, the dress too. And, see! a red plume in his hat--that's enough. I wonder where he's bound for--surely not Hollymead!"