She stood still, offended, and not in the least inclined to run after him and take back her words. He, poor fellow, stumbled down the steps, and held by the garden rail to collect his senses and compose himself. 'What's the matter, Gerard, are you ill or giddy?' asked Miss Nugent, coming up in the winter twilight. 'No, oh no! Only the dream of my life is over,' he answered, scarce knowing what he said. 'You haven't--' cried Mary aghast. 'Oh no,' he said, understanding the blank, 'only she won't take the pledge!' 'I don't see how she could or ought,' responded Mary. 'Is that all?' 'I had made it the test,' muttered poor Gerard. 'It is right! It is all over now. I shall know how to go on my way. It is best so--I know it is--only I did not know whether anything was due to her.' It was almost a sob. 'Dear old Gerard,' said Mary, 'I see you meant to do right. It is well your mind should be settled. I think you'll find comfort in your good work.' He wrung her hand, and she went in, half amused, for she was fully aware of the one-sidedness of the mania for temperance under which he acted, yet honouring his high, pure motives, and rejoicing that he had found this indirect mode of gauging Nuttie's feelings towards him--that is, if he was right about them, and there was no revulsion. Far from it. Nuttie was still angry. 'Gerard had been so ridiculous,' she said, 'teasing her to take the pledge, and quite incapable of understanding her reasons. I can't think why Gerard has grown so stupid.' 'Enthusiasms carry people away,' returned Mary. 'If Mr. Dutton had only stayed, he would have kept Gerard like himself,' said Nuttie. But there was no relenting. The two young people avoided each other; and perhaps Nuttie was secretly relieved that the romance she had outgrown no longer entangled her. CHAPTER XXIII. A FAILURE. 'Would I had loved her more!'--Mrs. Hemans. 'On the 14th of January, at Bridgefield Egremont, the wife of Alwyn Piercefield Egremont, Esquire, a son and heir.'