“I have said too much already, Juanita. I entreat you to ask me no more.” She gave an impatient sigh, and turned from her cousin to the dog, as if he were the more interesting companion of the two. “Well, I suppose I must be content to wait,” she said; “but if you knew what I have suffered—what I shall suffer till that mystery is solved—you would not wonder if I feel angry at being kept in the dark. Has your friend gone back to London?” “Yes; but he is coming again before my holiday is over. You like him, I know, Juanita,” he added, looking at her somewhat earnestly. “Yes, I like him,” she answered, carelessly, but with a faint blush. “I suppose most people like him, do they not? He is so bright and clever.” “I am very glad you like him. He is the most valued friend I have—indeed, I might almost say he is the only friend I made for myself at the University. I made plenty of acquaintances, but very few I cared to meet in after-life. Ramsay was like a brother. It would have been a real grief to me if our friendship had not lasted.” “He is ambitious, is he not?” “Very ambitious.” “And proud?” “Very proud; but it is a noble pride—the pride that keeps a man straight in all his doings—the pride that prefers bread and cheese in a garret to turtle and venison at a parvenu’s table. He is a splendid fellow, Nita, and I am proud of his friendship.” “Is he very busy, that he should be so determined to leave Dorchester?” “Yes; he is full of work always. I thought he might have been content to take two or three weeks’ quiet reading in our sleepy old town, but he wanted to get back to the hospital. He will come back for a day or two when the whim seizes him. He has always been erratic in his pleasures, but steady as a rock in his work.” CHAPTER XXXII. “The heaviness and guilt within my bosom Takes off my manhood.” Lord Cheriton put the pistol-case under his arm and left the cottage. The case was covered by his loose summer overcoat, and anybody meeting him in the Park might have supposed that he was carrying a book, or might have failed to observe that he was carrying anything whatever. As it happened he met nobody between the West Gate and the house. He went in at the open window of the library, locked the pistol-case in one of the capacious drawers of the large writing-table—drawers which contained many of his most important documents, and which were provided with the safest lever locks. When this was done he went to his wife’s morning-room, where she was generally to be found at this hour, her light breakfast finished, and her newspaper-reading or letter-writing begun. “Where have you been so early, James?” she asked, looking up at him with an affectionate smile. “I was surprised to hear you had gone out before breakfast.”