When he took her hand to assist her to rise he felt it tremble in his own. "It was not a pleasant story," he said. "I ought not to have told it to you." They scarcely spoke at all as they descended. He did not understand his own unreasoning happiness. What reason was there for it, after all? If he had argued the matter, he was in the mood to have said that what he gained in the strange sweetness of the flying moments could only hurt himself, and was enough in itself to repay him for any sense of pain and loss which might follow. But he did not argue at all. In Laurence Arbuthnot's place he would scarcely have given himself the latitude he was giving himself now. "It is safe enough for _me_," was the sharp-edged thought which had cut through all others once or twice. "It is safe enough for _me_ to be as happy as I may." But he forgot this as they went down the hill, side by side. For the time being he only felt, and each glance he turned upon Bertha's downcast face gave him cause to realize, what intensity his feelings had reached, and wakened him to that sudden starting of pulse and heart which is almost a pain. When they reached the house Bertha went in search of Janey. She remained with her for about half an hour, and then came out to the hammock with her work-basket. The carnations at her waist were crushed a little, and something of the first freshness of her holiday air was gone. She held a letter in her hand, which she had evidently been reading. She had not returned it to its envelope, and it was still half open. "It is from Richard," she said, after she had taken her seat in the hammock. "It was brought in from the post-office at Lowville about an hour ago." "From Richard?" he said. "He is coming home, I suppose." "No," she answered, looking down at the closely written sheets,--"he is not coming yet. He was wise enough not to take a serious view of Janey's case. He is very encouraging, and expresses his usual confidence in my management." There was nothing like bitterness in her voice, and it struck him that he had never seen so little expression of any kind in her face. She opened the letter and looked over the first page of it. "He has a great many interesting things to say," she went on; "and he is very enthusiastic." "About what?" Tredennis asked. She looked up. "About the Westoria lands," she answered. "He finds all sorts of complications of good fortune connected with them. I don't understand them all, by any means. I am not good at business. But it seems as though the persons who own the Westoria lands will be able to command the resources of the entire surrounding country,--if the railroad is carried through; of course it all depends upon the railroad." "And the railroad," suggested Tredennis, "depends upon"-- "I don't know," she replied. "On several people, I suppose. I wish it depended on me." "Why?" said Tredennis. She smiled slightly and rather languidly.