"Nonsense, dear," said Salis, smiling gravely, as he took his sister's hand. She snatched it away; not so quickly, though, but that he had time to feel that it was burning hot, as her scarlet cheeks seemed to be, while her eyes were unusually brilliant. It was no time to question or reproach, and the curate set himself to soothe. "Why, Leo, my dear," he said, smiling. "I shall begin to think you are cross." "If you mean indignant," she retorted, "I am. My very soul seems to revolt against the wretched system of espionage you two have established against me." "No, no, Leo, dear!" said Mary. "How can you say such things of Hartley, whose every thought is for your good?" "Good--good--good!" cried Leo; "I'm sick of the very word! Be good! Be a good girl! Oh! it's sickening!" Salis made a sign to Mary to be silent, but Leo detected it. "There!" she cried, with her eyes flashing. "What did I say? You two are always plotting against me. Ah!" She shivered as from a sudden chill, and drew her chair closer to the fire. "Do you feel unwell, dear?" said Salis anxiously. "No, _no_, no! I have told you both a dozen times over that I am quite well. It is a cold morning, and I shivered a little. Is there anything extraordinary in that?" "I only felt anxious about you, dear." "Then, pray don't feel anxious, but let me be in peace." She caught up a book, and tried to read; while, to avoid irritating her, Salis and Mary resumed their tasks--the one writing, the other busy over her needle; and to both it seemed as if they were performing penance, so intense was the desire to keep on glancing at Leo, while they felt the necessity for avoiding all appearance of noticing her. She held her book before her, and appeared to be reading, but she did not follow a line; for the letters were blurred, and a curious, dull, aching sensation racked her from head to foot, rising, as it were, in waves which swept through her brain, and made it throb. This, with its accompanying giddiness, passed off, and with obstinate determination she kept her place, and the pretence of reading was carried on till towards evening. They had dined--a weary, comfortless meal--at which Leo had taken her place, and made an attempt to eat; but it was evident to the others that the food disgusted her, and almost everything was sent untasted away. The irritability seemed to have died out, but every attempt to draw her into conversation failed; and after a time the meal progressed in silence, till they drew round the fire at the end to resume their tasks, almost without a word. Salis was busy over a formal report of the state of the parish for the rector. Mary was hard at work stitching, to help a poor widow who gained a precarious living by needlework, and Leo still had her book before her eyes.