"Only this," replied Mr. Chattaway significantly. "That the more you encourage Rupert Trevlyn, by making a companion of him, the worse it will be for him." George lifted his hat in salutation. The master of Trevlyn Hold replied by an ungracious nod, and turned his horse back down the lane. As George rode on, he met Edith and Emily Chattaway--the children, as Octave had styled them--running towards him. They had seen their father, and were hastening after him. Maude came up more leisurely. George stopped to shake hands with her. "You look pale and ill, Maude," he said, his low voice full of sympathy, his hand retaining hers. "Is it about Rupert?" "Yes," she replied, striving to keep back her tears. "He was not allowed to come in last night, and has been sent away without breakfast this morning." "I know all about it," said George. "I met Rupert just now, and he told me. I asked him if he would go to Nora for some breakfast--I could not do less, you know," he added musingly, as if debating the question with himself. "But he declined. I am almost glad he did." Maude was surprised. "Why?" she asked. "Because I have had an idea--have felt it for some time--that any attention shown to Rupert, no matter by whom, only makes his position worse with Chattaway. And Chattaway has now confirmed it by telling me so." Maude's eyelids drooped. "How sad it is!" she exclaimed with emotion--"and for one in his weak state! If he were only strong as the rest of us are, it would matter less. I fear--I do fear he must have slept under the trees in the avenue," she continued. "Mr. Chattaway inquired where he had passed the night, and Rupert answered----" "I can so far relieve your fears, Maude," interrupted George, glancing round, as if to make sure no ears were near. "He was at old Canham's." Maude gave a deep sigh in her relief. "You are certain, George?" "Yes, yes. Rupert told me so just now. He said how hard he found the settle. Here come your charges, Maude; so I will say good-bye." She suffered her hand to linger in his, but her heart was too full to speak. George bent lower. "Do not make the grief weightier than you can bear, Maude. It is real grief; but happier times may be in store for Rupert--and for you." He released her hand, and cantered down the lane; and the two girls came up, telling Maude they should go home now, for they had walked long enough. CHAPTER XV TORMENTS There appeared to be no place on earth for Rupert Trevlyn. Most people have some little nook they can fit themselves into and call their own; but he had none. He was only on sufferance at the Hold, and was made to feel more of an interloper in it day by day.