"You do not know whether you love me, Adela?" he said, with a bitter laugh. "You do not know exactly? Well, I know, and I will tell you. No, you do not love me, or you never, after what I have told you, could demand such a sacrifice of me! You do not love me, Adela; it was all a dream, and"--he drew out the ribbon upon which he wore her ring--"and it is past and gone!" He held out the ring to her. "There, take it back," he said, his voice trembling with agitation. "I cannot any longer be your friend. There is only one relation possible between us. I must have all or nothing. Take it, take it back!" And he still held the ring out to her. "I will not have it," she said, turning stubbornly away. "Take it, or I will throw it into the lake. I will not keep it." "Do as you please." Walter tossed the ring from him. For an instant it glittered in the sunlight above the waters of the little lake, into which it sank with a faint splash. Adela never looked towards it. She stooped and stroked the head of her dog, who pressed close to her side as if in dread of some coming misfortune. The girl thought that Walter would speak again. Suddenly she heard the sound of a horse's hoofs behind her. She started up, to see both steed and rider just disappearing at the turning of the oak avenue. "Walter!" she almost screamed. But he had gone. She sank on her knees, and laid her head upon Fidèle's neck. "Walter," she sobbed, "I love you! Oh, now I know I love you!" But Walter could not hear her. CHAPTER XI. THEA ROUNDS HER FIRST PROMONTORY.