"This morning, when you was out, a lady and gentleman called, and looked at the rooms, and made rather a stiff bargain. They said they would call again; but the gentleman gave me his card, and that looked like business." "I suppose so. I went over to Kensington this morning to see the postman. I thought it was as well to tell him our new address, in case there might be a letter for me." "A letter for you!" repeated Mrs. Kershaw, in a sharp key, with a sudden nod that set her ringlets dancing. "I thought Miss Walker knew we was moved." "She does; still it is possible some old friend--" "Hoh!" said Mrs. Kershaw, ironically. "Are you sure it ain't a new friend--a Scotch friend? I know I haven't no right to ask, but--" "Ah, suspicious one!" interrupted Ella, laughing. "If none of my father's old friends seek me out, no one else will." "There's the front-door bell!" cried Mrs. Kershaw, excitedly; "that's the lady and gent come back about my first floor"--a pause ensued, a rapid but heavy tread, and the opening of the door was heard. The next moment that of the room in which they were was flung violently open, and the "girl" announced a "gentleman for Miss Rivers." Whereupon a tall figure seemed to fill up the door-way, and for a moment Ella felt dizzy and blinded with astonishment, with mingled joy and terror, as Colonel Wilton entered and stood still. "Hoh!" said Mrs. Kershaw; "do you know this gentleman, or is he after the apartments?" "I know him. I--" faltered Ella. "Hoh!" again said Mrs. Kershaw, and, turning back, walked straight out of the room with dignity. Wilton closed the door after her, and, advancing to the agitated girl, exclaimed, with a tinge of sternness, "Ella, have you hid from me purposely?" "Hid from you? No; you knew where to find me when poor Donald died." "Which I first heard of in Ireland two days ago." "Two days ago!" faltered Ella, the truth dawning on her. "I thought you would have known of it directly. I thought you did not write because you did not wish to see me again. I--oh, listen to me, understand me!" clasping her hand with a restrained eagerness very impressive--"do not think I would willingly have caused you the slightest uneasiness from any petty idea of standing on my dignity; but, indeed, I was puzzled what to do, and then believing, as I did, that you must have been informed of Donald's death and the breaking up of Sir Peter's establishment, I concluded that you had changed your plans--your views--your--oh, I could not write to you! Do you not see I could not?" "I can only repeat that two days ago I did not know of that poor boy's death. And, but for a few words in a letter from Moncrief, I should have started for Monkscleugh to keep the tryst. Now, Ella, are you glad to see me? do you believe me?"--as he spoke Wilton took both her hands, and looked eagerly into the eyes so frankly, but gravely, raised to his.