At any other time Marian would have protested, and explained, and soothed. Now she was too heavily preoccupied by her guilty conscience. She strolled disconsolately to the window, and presently, seeing that Miss McQuinch was at work in earnest and had better not be disturbed, went off for a lonely walk. It was a glorious afternoon; and nature heaped its peculiar consolations on her; so that she never thought of returning until the sun was close to the horizon. As she came, tired, through the plantation, with the evening glow and the light wind, in which the branches were rustling and the leaves dropping, lulling her luxuriously, she heard some one striding swiftly along the path behind. She looked back; but there was a curve in the way; and she could not see who was coming. Then it occurred to her that it might be Conolly. Dreading to face him after what had happened, she stole aside among the trees a little way, and sat down on a stone, hoping that he might pass by without seeing her. The next moment he came round the curve, looking so resolute and vigorous that her heart became fainter as she watched him. Just opposite where she sat, he stopped, having a clear view of the path ahead for some distance, and appeared puzzled. Marian held her breath. He looked to the left through the trees, then to the right, where she was. “Good-evening, Miss Lind,” he said respectfully, raising his hat. “Good-evening,” said she, trembling. “You are not looking quite well.” “I have walked too much; and I feel a little tired. That is why I had to sit down. I shall be rested presently.” Conolly sat down on a felled trunk opposite Marian. “This is my last visit to Carbury Towers,” he said. “No doubt you know that I am going for good.” “Yes,” said Marian. “I—I am greatly obliged to you for all the pains you have taken with me in the laboratory. You have been very patient. I suppose I have often wasted your time unreasonably.” “No,” said Conolly, unceremoniously, “you have not wasted my time: I never let anybody do that. My time belonged to Lord Carbury, not to myself. However, that is neither here nor there. I enjoyed giving you lessons. Unless you enjoyed taking them, the whole obligation rests on me.” “They were very pleasant.” He shifted himself into an easier position, looking well pleased. Then he said, carelessly, “Has Mr. Marmaduke Lind come down?” Marian reddened and felt giddy. “I want to avoid meeting him,” continued Conolly; “and I thought perhaps you might know enough of his movements this evening to help me to do so. It does not matter much; but I have a reason.” Marian felt the hysteric globe at her throat as she tried to speak; but she repressed it, and said: “Mr. Conolly: I know the reason. I did not know before: I am sure you did not think I did. I made a dreadful mistake.” “Why!” said Conolly, with some indignation, “who has told you since?”