"'Yes, it was Miss Marjorum that came. She asked to see Esperanza alone, and they were shut up together for over an hour, and then the bell was rung, and Miss Marjorum told the girl to pack up Miss Campbell's things, bring her box down to the hall, and when she had done that, to fetch a four-wheeler. Sarah was nearly as upset as I was, but she and I packed the things between us--such a few things, poor child--and carried the box downstairs, and I waited in the hall while Sarah ran for the cab. And presently Esperanza came out of the parlour with Miss Marjorum, and put on her hat and jacket, and then came to bid me good-bye. "'She put her arms round my neck and kissed me; and though I had done my duty by you and your ma, Mr. George, I felt like Judash. "It was right of you to tell," she said; "it was only right--for his sake," and Miss Marjorum hurried her down the steps and into the cab before she could say another word. I do believe the poor dear child gave you up without a murmur, Mr. George, because she knew that it would have been your ruin to marry her.' "'Bosh! That had been drummed into her by Miss Marjorum. You have done me the worst turn you ever did any one in your life, Martha; and yet I thought if there was anybody in the world I could trust it was you. Where did the cab go--do you know that?' "'Charing Cross Station. I heard Miss Marjorum give the order.'" CHAPTER X. "AND THAT UNREST WHICH MEN MISCALL DELIGHT." Allan went back to Matcham sobered by grief, and longing for the comfort his betrothed could give him, the comfort of sympathy and gentle words, the deeper comfort in the assurance of her love. Suzette looked very pale in her black frock when Allan appeared at Marsh House after his bereavement. They stood side by side in the grey light of a hopelessly dull day, finding but little speech in the sadness of this first meeting. "My darling, you have been grieving for my grief," he said tenderly, looking into the dark eyes, noting the tired look as of many tears, the sharper line of the cheek, the settled pallor, where a lovely carmine had been wont to come and go like warm light. "My dearest, you have lost all your roses--and for my sake. For me those dear eyes have known sleepless nights, those lovely cheeks have grown pinched and pale." "Do you think that I could help being sorry for you, Allan?" she murmured, with downcast eyelids. "You had no other cause for sorrow, I hope?" "No, no; only in every life there are saddening intervals. I was sorry for your sake--sorry that I was never to see your father again. I liked him so much, Allan. And then somehow I got into a low-spirited way, and old Dr. Podmore gave me a tonic which made my head ache. I don't know that it had any other effect." "Suzette, it was cruel of you not to tell me that you were ill."