She did not turn away from him, she did not even take away her hand which he had clasped, and yet nothing in her attitude or in her eyes seemed to have grown nearer to him during that moment in which they stood so close to each other under the fir-trees, a little hidden from the soft, warm sun. Winifred stood as if she were thinking, but it might have been of something outside herself, and with which she was only concerned as a looker-on. Her face was tenderly grave, but Frank sought in vain for any glow which should answer his. She was silent so long, however, that at last he could bear it no longer, and said in a voice which was all uneven and broken,-- "What do you say, Winifred? You will not refuse me that one little promise?" She said immediately, looking into his face with unshrinking eyes,-- "Ah, Frank, it is because it is so little that I feel I dare not give it. Dear Frank, what are you offering me?--do you think I do not know its worth?--and for all your heart you ask no more than just a little dead sufferance. You want to give everything, and to have nothing back again." "What you call nothing--" began Frank, flushing, but she interrupted him quickly, with a new tone of pain in her voice. "No, no,--why do we go on talking?--let us try to forget it all, let us try to be dear friends always, but do not ask me to do you a wrong which would make me hate myself." Winifred might have been impetuously thrusting back something. Perhaps she was: perhaps she had a little secret, impatient longing to escape somehow, anyhow, from the associations which imprisoned her. Frank, who knew all her little story, and knew no more than she who was coming at that moment with swift steps across the dewy grass, looked at her, and felt his heart sink, though he had not lost all hope. He could wait a lifetime, he thought, and patient waiting must gain her at last. Just then the little iron gate clicked as Anthony came through: he saw them standing with clasped hands, saw Winifred look up, and turn away quickly to the house. Was his secret misgiving true?--was it too late, after all? He half stopped; but Frank had seen him, and was strolling towards him. The two men did not meet very cordially, but they went through the usual conventionalities. "So you're not off?" said Anthony. Captain Orde, whose face was white, and whose hand was not quite so steady as usual, took out his fusee-box and struck a light. "No, I'm not off till to-morrow," he said, lighting his cigar slowly. "Will you have a cigar? I shall make one push for it to Colchester. Do you ever come that way?" "Not nowadays. Though I don't know where I shall find myself next. Sometimes I think of travelling for a year or two." "You don't mean just knocking about Europe?" "No, _I_ should go farther afield." Captain Orde gave him a quick, rather questioning glance, and walked on silently. "How will that agree with your other prospects?" he said at last.