This was enough for Aspel. He had been depressed before; he was in the depths of despair now. If May had only shown confusion, or shyness, or anything but free-and-easy goodwill, hope might have revived, but he was evidently nothing more to her than the old playmate. Hope therefore died, and with its death there came over Aspel the calm subdued air of a crushed but resigned man. He observed her somewhat worn face and his heart melted. He resolved to act a brother's part to her. "I'm so glad to meet you at last, May!" he said, returning the kindly grasp of the hand with interest, but quite in a brotherly way. "You might have seen me long ago. Why did you not come? We would all have been so glad to see you." May blushed decidedly as she made this reply, but the shades of evening were falling. Moreover, the pillar near to which they stood threw a deep shadow over them, and Aspel did not observe it. He therefore continued--in a quiet, brotherly way-- "Ah! May, it is cruel of you to ask that. You know that I have been unfit--" "Nay, I did not mean _that_," interrupted May, with eager anxiety; "I meant that since--since--lately, you know--why did you not come?" "True, May, I might have come lately--praise be to God!--but, but--why should I not speak out? It's all over now. You know the love I once bore you, May, which you told me I must not speak of, and which I have tried to cure with all the energy of my heart, for I do not want to lose you as a sister--an old playmate at least--though I may not have you as--But, as I said, it's all over now. I promise never again to intrude this subject on you. Let me rather tell you of the glorious work in which I am at present engaged." He stopped, for, in spite of his efforts to be brotherly, there was a sense of sinking at his heart which slightly embittered his tone. "Is true love, then, so easily cured?" May looked up in his face as she asked the question. There was something in the look and in the tone which caused George Aspel's heart to beat like a sledge-hammer. He stooped down, and, looking into her eyes,--still in a brotherly way, said-- "Is it possible, May, that you could trifle with my feelings?" "No, it is not possible," she answered promptly. "Oh! May," continued Aspel, in a low, earnest tone; "if I could only dare to think,--to believe,--to hope, that--" "Forgive me, May, I'm so sorry," cried her brother Phil, as he sprang up the steps; "I did my best to hurry through with it. I'm afraid I've kept you and George waiting very long." "Not at all," replied May, with unquestionable truth. "If you could have only kept us waiting five minutes longer!" thought Aspel, but he only said--"Come along, Phil, I'll go home with you to-night." The evening was fine--frosty and clear. "Shall we walk to Nottinghill?" asked Phil. "It's a longish tramp for you, May, but that's the very thing you want."