"Very well, I will reserve what I have to say in private," he returned, looking after her with a sort of indulgent tenderness, as though she were the little child to whom he had compared her; and Queenie, who was near him, saw a certain vivid brightness in his eyes as he watched her. The circle broke up after this; but, though it was tolerably late for Hepshaw hours, they did not yet talk of separating. It was a lovely moonlight night, and, at Garth's invitation, Queenie strolled with him up and down the Vicar's steep, narrow garden. Dr. Stewart joined them, and talked for some time about his Indian experiences. They were both novel and interesting, and engrossed them wholly. Queenie was so fascinated by his description of Indian scenery that she with difficulty remembered the lateness of the hour, and that Langley and Cathy would be wondering at her absence; but she at last made an excuse to leave them. She lingered for a moment under the shadow of the house to watch the two dark figures still pacing up and down the steep path. This evening's excitement had quickened her pulses. The arrival of the stranger, Miss Faith's repressed agitation at the sight of him, Cathy's strange restlessness and plan for leaving home, had disturbed the even current of events. The moral air seemed charged with electricity and rife with disturbance; somewhere a storm seemed impending. This sense of movement, of vitality, was not unpleasant; youth dreads nothing more than monotony. It is only in age that one sits with folded hands expecting nothing. Garth's manner, too, had given her pleasure; it had been more than usually friendly. There had been appreciation in his glance, a certain cordiality in his tone, that had fallen pleasantly on her ear. "If he will only remain my friend I shall envy no girl her lover," thought Queenie, with a sudden fulness of heart; but at that moment she was startled from her reverie by the sound of voices in the dark entry behind her. She could hear Mr. Logan's quiet tones, and yes, surely that voice answering him was Cathy's! Before she could free herself a sentence or two reached her ear. "You will think over what I have said, my child? You will be good and give up this, to please me?" "No, no," returned the girl passionately, and the low, vehement tones gave Queenie a shock, for they were broken as though with weeping; "you must let me go. I will not stay and make you wretched, as I know I should do." "You would make me very happy, Catherine." "No, indeed, Mr. Logan, you are too great, too high for me; I cannot reach to you. I should tire myself and you with my efforts to be good. Oh, you must let me go! I must be free! indeed, indeed, I must be free!" "Then go, my wild bird, and take my blessing with you; only--" but here the tones were too low to be distinguished; only as Queenie moved away a figure brushed past her, and glided down the garden path. It was Cathy. CHAPTER XI.