"He doesn't mean it,--or he doesn't mean it seriously," said Winifred, correcting herself. "He has been accustomed so long to us girls, that he can't understand anything that seems like contradiction." "I never contradict him." "O no, you only disagree. Only the two things are so dreadfully alike, Anthony, that no wonder he is puzzled," said Winifred, with a quick look of fun. "Living with you ought to have broken him in to difference of opinion." "O, I can't afford to waste my contradictions on papa. I keep them for my friends." They glanced at each other and laughed, and walked on again silently side by side. Both were too easy in their companionship to be thinking about love, but they were very happy and contented to be together. Her influence tightened its hold upon his heart all imperceptibly, like so many threads which did not let themselves be known for fetters. There is a peril in those little threads, woven by habit, by proximity, by opportunities,--not a peril of their breaking, but of their untried strength being all unguessed, of some blast of passion, some storm of resentment, even some petty gust of pique, seeming for the moment to sweep them off, and free the heart of them forever,--until, as the rush dies away and the calm comes back, too late, perhaps, we learn that not a thread has snapt, that the work has been a work of desolation, that the small cords bind us still, like unyielding links of iron, and that the freedom we fancied we had gained is no more than a double bondage. Winifred said presently, in a questioning tone,-- "Anthony, I cannot make out what is the matter with Marion." "She is uneasy about Marmaduke. She has persuaded my father to write to old Tregennas. It's the last thing I would have done myself; however, it's his business, not mine." "I should long so much more for everything to go smoothly with them, if I felt more sure about Marmaduke. I wish you would tell me if you really like him," said Winifred eagerly, "or whether it is the having been old playfellows that prejudices you towards him." "Of course I like him," said Anthony, a little indignantly. "He's the best fellow in the world. Talk of prejudices, you women keep fresh relays which come in every week, and last about as long. Here's a poor fellow eating his heart out over work which he detests, and just because he's down in the world, you must all set your faces against him. I wish there were a better chance of things coming right than I see at present." The speech ended more mildly than it began, for Anthony was suddenly struck with the golden threads which the sunshine brought out in Winifred's hair. They were standing at this moment close to the mulberry-tree. And then he rushed off to point out to her the spot which David Stephens had intended to appropriate for the chapel. But he returned presently to the subject.