A faint smile of pain came to her mouth. Walter had seen that look very recently before--when he told his mother why it was that he had sent for her. Was he capable of giving nothing but pain to those he loved? If he had tried to explain or apologise, it is doubtful whether Oona's faculties, so suddenly and strangely strained, could have borne it. But he said nothing. What was there to say?--the fact which he had thus avowed was beyond explanation. He met her eyes for a moment, then drooped his head. There was nothing--nothing to be said. It was true. He had gone to another woman first, and then, when that failed, as a last resource had come to her. The anguish was so sharp that it brought that smile. It was incredible in the midst of her happiness. Her heart seemed wrung and crushed in some gigantic grasp. She looked at him with wondering, incredulous misery. "You thought then, I suppose," she said, "that one--was as good as another?" "I did not do that, Oona; it is, perhaps, impossible that you should understand. I told you--I had tried--every expedient: not daring to come to the one and only--the one, the only----" She waved her hand as if putting this aside, and stood for a moment looking out vaguely upon the loch--upon the sheen of the water, the castle lying darkly in shadow, the banks stretching upward and downward in reflection. They had been glorified a moment since in the new union; now they were blurred over, and conveyed no meaning. Then she said drearily-- "My mother--will wonder why we do not come in--" "May I speak to her--at once? Let me speak." "Oh no!" she cried. "Say nothing--nothing! I could not bear it." And then he seized upon her hand, the hand she had taken from him, and cried out-- "You are not going to forsake me, Oona! You will not cast me away?" "I cannot," she said very low, with her eyes upon the landscape, "I cannot!" Then, turning to him, "You have my word, and I have but one word: only everything is changed. Let us say no more of it just now. A little time--I must have a little time." And she turned and walked before him to the house. They went in silence, not a word passing between them. Mysie, startled, came out to the door to ascertain who it could be who were preceded by the sound of footsteps only, not of voices. It was "no canny," she said. And to think this was Miss Oona, whose cheerful voice always came home before her to warn the house that its pride and joy was approaching! Mysie, confounded, went to open the door of the drawing-room that her mistress might be made to share her uneasiness. "It will just be Miss Oona, mem, and my lord," Mysie said, "but very down, as if something had happened and not saying a word." "Bless me!" cried Mrs. Forrester. Her heart naturally leapt to the only source of danger that could affect her deeply. "It is not a mail day, Mysie," she said; "there can be no ill news."