Lister threw himself contentedly on the fragrant heather, and drew Bella down by his side. "I have heard, and I am very angry," he said hotly. "Dear, what does your aunt mean by treating you in this way?" Bella shrugged her shoulders. "I expect she wants the Manor to herself now that she is married. Who told you?" "Miss Ankers. I met her coming out of school. She told me that you were returning to dinner, so I came to fetch you. I guessed that I should find you here, and so----" he waved his hand lazily. "I am glad to see you," said Bella again, "but you look ill, dear." Cyril shrugged his shoulders. "I am worried about this mysterious double of mine," he muttered, and lying full length on the burnt grass he tilted his hat over his eyes. He did indeed look ill, for his face was very pale and lines appeared on his forehead which should not have been there at his age. In some extraordinary way he seemed to have aged, as it were, in a moment. "I am very much worried," he sighed; "everything is going wrong. Now this abominable treatment to which your aunt has subjected you to makes things doubly difficult for me." "In what way?" asked Bella, sitting up and hugging her knees. "I don't know how to move," explained the young man. "While you were safe at Bleacres with your aunt I could wait. But now that you have no home, I should like to marry you at once." He sighed again. "But that is impossible, dear, owing to circumstances." "You need not trouble about me," said Bella promptly. "I have got one hundred pounds, and I am quite glad to be away from Aunt Rosamund's incessant nagging. I can live with Dora and pay my way until such time as you can marry me." "Heaven only knows when I can marry you!" groaned Cyril dismally. "I can tell you," said Bella, removing the hat from his anxious face in order to look into his eyes; "as soon as you are frank with me." "I have come to be frank with you," said Lister reluctantly. "It sounds like it." "My dear"--he sat up to speak more forcibly--"when I am frank you will be as unhappy as I am." "What do you mean?" "Mean? I scarcely know what I mean--that is, I scarcely dare put my thoughts into words. Of course, I may be wrong. I sincerely trust that I am wrong. All the same, there is no denying that I have grave grounds for my belief." "What belief?" Bella asked the question in scared tones, as Cyril looked so wretched. He did not reply at once, but moved restlessly about, evidently bracing himself to speak plainly. Even when he did open his mouth he was evasive. "I have an idea that my double--that is, the man who was mistaken by you and Pence for me on that night--might be--oh!"--he rested his head between his hands with a groan--"I dare not tell you who he might be." "You have some idea?" "Yes; I wish I hadn't." "Is it anyone I know?" "No." "Is it----" "Oh, my dear! don't ask questions which I dare not answer."