But Harry said there was a chance, then, that he might meet with his old tutor in the hamlet, and he started away, eager to be alone and to escape from the rector's observation, for he knew that he was betraying himself. He went swiftly along under the sultry shade in a confused whirl of sensations. His confidence had suddenly failed him. He had counted on Bessie Fairfax for his comrade since he was a boy; the idea of her was woven into all his pleasant recollections of the past and all his expectations in the future. Since that Sunday evening in the old sitting-room at Brook her sweet, womanly figure had been the centre of his thoughts, his reveries. He had imagined difficulties, obstacles, but none with her. This real difficulty, this tangible obstacle, in the shape of Mr. Cecil Burleigh, a suitor chosen by her family and supported by Lady Latimer, gave him pause. He could not affect to despise Mr. Cecil Burleigh, but he vowed a vow that he would not be cheated of his dear little Bessie unless by her own consent. Was it possible that he was deceived in her--that he and she mistook her old childish affection for the passion that is strong as death? No--no, it could not be. If there was truth in her eyes, in her voice, she loved him as dearly as he loved her, though never a word of love had been spoken between them. The young man wrought himself up into such a state of agitation and excitement that he never reached Marsh-End nor saw Mr. Moxon at all that day. He turned, and bent his steps by a circuitous path to a woodland nook where he had left his friend Christie at work a couple of hours ago. "Back again so soon? Then you did not find Moxon at home," said the artist, scarcely lifting an eye from the canvas. Harry flung himself on the ground beside his friend and delivered his mind of its new burden. Christie now condescended to look at him and to say calmly, "It is always well to know what threatens us, but there is no need to exaggerate facts. Mr. Cecil Burleigh is a rival you may be proud to defeat; Miss Fairfax will please herself, and I think you are a match for him. You have the start." "I know Bessie is fond of me, but she is a simple, warm-hearted girl, and is fond of all of us," said Harry with a reflective air. "I had no idea you were so modest. Probably she has a slight preference for _you_." Christie went on painting, and now and then a telling touch accentuated his sentiments. Harry hearkened, and grew more composed. "I wish I had her own assurance of it," said he. "You had better ask her," said Christie.