Now, as she hears Wyndham’s step upon the gravel, she lifts her head, and the white misery of her face, as he sees it, makes his heart swell with wrath within him. Great heavens! what had that fiend said to her? He struggles with an almost ungovernable desire to go to her and press those poor forlorn eyes against his breast, if only to shut them out from his vision; and he struggles, too, it must be confessed—not so successfully—with a wild longing to give way to bad language. A few words escape him, breathed low, but extremely pungent. They bring some faint relief; but still his heart burns within him, and, indeed, he himself is surprised at the intensity of his emotion. She does not speak, and he does not attempt to shake hands with her. It is impossible for him to forget that it is his own aunt who has thus wantonly insulted her—who has brought this terrible look into her young face. She, who has known so much suffering, who is now, indeed, only slowly recovering from a life unutterably sad. ‘I know it all,’ begins he hurriedly, disconnectedly—he, the cold, clever barrister. ‘I met her just now, just outside the gate. She is a woman of a most vindictive temper. I hope you will not let anything she may have said dwell for a moment in your memory. It is not worth it, believe me. She is unscrupulous.’ He is almost out of breath now, but still hurries on. ‘She would do anything to gain a point. She——’ ‘You are talking of your aunt,’ says Ella at last in a stifled tone. ‘Yes; and God knows,’ says he, with vehement bitterness, ‘there was never anyone more ashamed to acknowledge anything than I am to acknowledge her. You—you will try to forget what she said——’ ‘Forget! Every word,’ says the girl, lifting her hands and pressing the palms against her pretty head, ‘seems beaten in here.’ ‘But such words—so false, so meaningless—the words of a malicious woman, used to gain her own purpose——’ ‘Still, they are here,’ says she wearily. ‘For the moment; but in time you will forget, not only her words, but her.’