Hers was a wild strange nature, a nature capable of violent love and violent hate; the same pendulum could swing with equal ease to each extreme. Eva had robbed her of Her lover; she would rob Eva, and put the prize out of her reach too. Little she recked of the wickedness of her design; for where in the long record of human crime is there a wickedness to surpass the deliberate separation, for no good reason, of two people who love each other with all their hearts? Surely there is none. She knew this, but she did not hesitate on that account. She was not hypocritical. She made no excuses to herself. She knew well that on every ground it was best that Eva should marry Ernest, and pursue her natural destiny, happy in his love and in her own. But she would have none of it. If once they should meet again, the game would pass out of her hands; for the weakest woman grows strong of purpose when she has her lover’s arm to lean on. Florence realised this, and determined that they should never set eyes on each other until an impassable barrier, in the shape of Mr. Plowden, had been raised between the two. Having thus finally determined on the sacrifice, she set about whetting the knife. One day, a month or so after Miss Ceswick was buried, Mr. Plowden called at the Cottage on some of the endless details of which district-visiting was the parent. He had hardly seen Eva since that never-to-be-forgotten day, when he had learned what Jeremy’s ideas of a shaking were, for the very good reason that she had carefully kept out of his way. So it came to pass that when, looking out of the window on the afternoon in question, she saw the crown of a clerical hat coming along the road, Eva promptly gathered up her work and commenced a hasty retreat to her bedroom. “Where are you going to, Eva?” asked her sister. “Upstairs—here he comes.” “‘He’! who is ‘he’?” “Mr. Plowden, of course.” “And why should you run away because Mr. Plowden is coming?” “I do not like Mr. Plowden.” “Really, Eva, you are too bad. You know what a friendless position we are in just now, and you go and get up a dislike to one of the few men we know. It is very selfish of you, and most unreasonable.” At that moment the front-door bell rang, and Eva fled. Mr. Plowden on entering looked round the room with a somewhat disappointed air. “If you are looking for my sister,” said Florence, “she is not very well.” “Indeed, I am afraid that her health is not good; she is so often indisposed.” Florence smiled, and they dropped into the district-visiting. Presently, however, Florence dropped out again.