"In a bigger country, with fewer restrictions and barbed wire fences, I may be able to do something," he went on. "At worst, I can but fail." "I hoped that something would turn up here," she said, after a long pause. "So did I, Ruth; and, indeed, until this morning things looked promising." "Well?" "Like so many other hopes, Ruth, it has gone out in darkness." "You have said nothing to me about it," she said at length. "No. I did not wish to buoy you up with hopes that might end in nothing." "What was it you had in your mind, Ralph?" And she raised her soft, beseeching eyes to his. "Oh, well," he said uneasily, "no harm can come of telling you now, though I did promise William that I would say nothing to you about it." "Oh, indeed!" she said, in hurt tones. "What has he to do with it?" "Well, as a matter of fact, he had nearly everything to do with it." "And he had so little confidence in me that I was not to be trusted?" "No, sis. William Menire is not that kind of man, as you ought to know by this time." "Then why was I not to be told? Does he take me for a child?" "Perhaps he does. You see, he is years older than either of us; but his main concern was that you should not feel in any way under an obligation to him." "I do not understand." "William feels very sensitive where you are concerned. The truth is, he was going to advance most of the money for the purchase of Hillside." "Ralph!" "It is true, dear; and until this morning we hoped we should get it." "Well?" "It has been sold to somebody else." For a long time no other word was spoken. Ruth made a pretence of eating, but she had no longer any appetite for her dinner. Ralph had given her food of another kind--food for reflection. A dozen questions that had been the vaguest suggestions before suddenly crystallised themselves into definite form. When the dinner was over, Ralph put on his hat and made for the door. "I am going down to Perranpool," he said. "I have one or two things I want to talk over with Robert Telfer before I go." "Don't forget to remember me to Mary," Ruth said, following him to the door. "Anything else?" he questioned, with a smile. "Yes. Tell her to come up and see me as soon as ever she is able." "All right," and, waving his hand, he marched rapidly away. Ruth sighed as she followed him with her eyes. It seemed to her a thousand pities that his native land had no place for such as he. He was not of the common order. He had gifts, education, imagination, enterprise, and yet he was foiled at every point. Then for some reason her thoughts travelled away to William Menire, and the memory of her brother's words, "William is very sensitive where you are concerned," brought a warm rush of colour to her cheeks. Why should William be so sensitive where she was concerned? Why should he be so shy and diffident when in her presence? Why was he ever so ready to sing the praises of his cousin?