"When who marries Sir John?" asked Horace, abruptly. He had just come rather feebly into the room--convalescent, but not strong, his mind working out all the vigour which should have gone to the strengthening of his body. That he was changed was certain, but it was doubtful whether the change was so entirely for the better as his sister charitably supposed. He did not look much more amiable at the present moment; he came in with the sullen shade of old upon his face. He had heard part of Susan's last words; but she did not know what a furious passion awoke in his heart when he asked, "Who marries Sir John?" "Oh, it is Amelia, Horace--Amelia, Roger's half sister; did not you know about it?" said Susan, innocently--"you, too, who have known them longer than I; it was settled last week." "Oh, was it?" said Horace, bitterly. He went out of the room the next moment, flinging down, half unawares, half consciously, a heap of his sister's wedding preparations. It was natural that the sight of such things at such a time should gall the young man; the next moment they heard him up in his own room, making a great commotion there. Susan was a little startled and frightened in spite of herself. Horace took strange fancies now and then. He was rich now, and could do as he pleased. Sometimes Susan, all unaware of the canker there, imagined that his mind was a little affected. She could not imagine what freak possessed him now. A little while after Horace came downstairs, dressed more carefully than she had yet seen him. He told her he was going away "to town"--which Susan supposed to mean to Kenlisle--and should walk to the nearest roadside public-house, where they kept a gig. He would send for his things, but might not see her for some time again, and so he held out a hot, trembling hand, and bade her "Good-bye--good-bye!" Susan tried some remonstrances, but he hurried out in the midst of them, and strode away across the moor in the bright August sunshine. His sister stood at the window watching him, as she had stood many a day before, till his figure disappeared among the distant saplings and dark gorse bushes. It was the last time that Horace Scarsdale trod the familiar heather of Lanwoth Moor.