'I'd like it to be thorough rural, not so near the town as this. I'd like a house on a hill, and would not care to be more than a mile from a good old church, where five or ten generations of simple folk have knelt and worshipped until they were gathered into the quiet churchyard. My dear good George, it would be such a pleasure to me, who have been kicking about the world so long, owning nothing but my baggage, having no being on earth more dear to me than the waiter who last drew a cork for me, to find myself owner of a quiet English house on the top of one of these gentle hills, overlooking a little valley with an old-fashioned church in view, and the dearest girl in all the world by my side, and you and your wife--' 'Yes, I can understand, I can understand,' said Osborne, very softly. He got up, and leaning his elbows on the chimneypiece, was silent for awhile. Something in his action and manner caused Nevill to pause. All at once Osborne turned round, held out his hand, and said, in a firm, clear voice,-- 'Nevill, I hope you may succeed, and realise all your hopes. You are a good, kindly fellow. I like you very much. I shall be very glad to do anything I can for you, and to hear you speak on any subject but one. From this, until I tell you I have removed the injunction, you must not allude to my affairs.' CHAPTER VI. A TROUBLED HEART. 'And so, miss, we're going down to the country to stay awhile with Mr---- I mean Miss Osborne's mother. Well, that will be a change anyway, and it's time we had a change out of London. I'm tired of London for one! And where are we going after Stratford? Are we coming back to London?' 'I do not know, O'Connor.' 'And when do we leave London for Stratford?' 'To-morrow afternoon.' The maid withdrew and left the mistress alone. Marie sat in an old-fashioned elbow-chair before the fire. Her hands were clasped in her lap, her head drooped forward. Her eyes were fixed upon her hands. Her face was dull and expressionless. No light shone in her eye. The thoughts that visited her came like shadows, and went like shadows, vague in their approach, leaving nothing after them when they had gone. She was not thinking so much as musing, not so much musing as allowing what idea would to stray into her mind. Her heart had become a weary spectator of her thoughts. She was not dreaming, for dreaming means dealing with things which are not. She was looking with heavy, dull, uninterested eyes at a panorama of the immediate past.