They had reached the gate, and turned into a dreary piece of “outer circle.” “Mine?” exclaimed Embrance, growing scarlet in the dim twilight; “there is no occasion to talk about me.” “I beg your pardon, I have a great deal to say. Do you suppose I don’t see what you are doing for my cousin, how you are helping her and teaching her, and taking on your shoulders the responsibilities that her own family ought to bear?” “I had not looked upon it from that point of view,” said Embrance, dryly. “Now you are angry at what I have said; I can’t help it, I can’t hold my tongue any longer. Joan knows what I think, but perhaps she has not told you all I said; she is a dear little girl. Don’t imagine that I am throwing any blame on her, but she shouldn’t have come to London!” “I have tried to do my best for her,” said Embrance, in a broken voice. “Miss Clemon,” cried Horace, “you must think that I am behaving like a brute! Do you suppose I don’t know that? You have done her, and are doing her, all the good in the world.” “I thought that you did not trust me,” explained Embrance, simply. “I’m so glad I was wrong; indeed, Joan is like a younger sister to me; don’t try to separate us.” The light of a feeble gaslight fell upon her face as she spoke; her eyes were raised pleadingly to his. “You have mistaken me altogether,” he said, hurriedly, “but I couldn’t expect it to be otherwise. You must not misunderstand me again. Embrance, I know I am taking you by surprise; I must say it. I love you. I am miserable when I am away from you. Don’t, don’t turn away!” A gust of wind came roaring down the road; she did not heed it. She walked quietly by his side, stricken dumb with great joy. She did not deceive herself for one instant, it was too late for that, she liked him too well. She could not shut her heart to the truth, any more than she could shut her ears to his words. Alas, alas! where were all her plans for Joan? Did Joan love him? In the darkness of the badly lighted road, she seemed to see Joan’s beautiful face, and to hear her say, “Embrance, have patience with me. Don’t think ill of me! You are the only one who has patience with me!” “My poor dear, I will do my best for you,” she thought, as a feeling of great tenderness towards Joan came over her. She had no answer ready for Horace Meade. Ah! he was strong, and did not want her pity. “What shall I say? What shall I do?” she cried at last, in desperation. It seemed as if hours had passed since he had spoken the words that made this great difference in her life. “Have I distressed you? I can’t help it. Tell me, won’t you listen to me?” “I, I am sorry,” she faltered, looking at him with a tearful glance.