She had once been proud or vain, she knew not which. She had in the olden time scorned women who were easily led by men; now she would follow him to the grave. Nay, she would walk into the grave, although she knew he was not to follow her; although it was to be their final separation for time and eternity. Was this infatuation? No. This was love as she had dreamed of it, as it had always presented itself to her in the long-ago of unrest and heart fancy-free. Yes, she would rather see him married to someone not herself, than that he should be her husband and dissatisfied with his wife. But would he ever unbosom himself to her? Would he allow her to go down to his mother's place without explaining the alteration of his manner? That would be worse than even here. What should she do? Another girl in her place would refuse the invitation. But he had brought the note from home, and she was justified in concluding it had been dictated by his heart. Oh, that there were any way of finding out what would come of this--death or life! Gradually, as the minutes went on, the mind of the girl had become more active. In time the mere dreamy contemplation of dull shadows passed away, and her ideas assumed sharp edges, and her thoughts exact formulæ. 'O'Connor, is that you?' 'Yes, miss.' 'What brought you back?' 'A note for you from Mr Osborne.' With hands that trembled slightly, the mistress took the envelope and opened it. The contents were:-- 'Tell me when you can give me an hour or two. I want to have a quiet chat with you in the open air somewhere. George.' She took up a pencil and wrote back,-- 'I can keep any appointment you make. Marie.' He rejoined:-- 'Come at once.' She rose, and said,-- 'O'Connor, give me a waterproof; I am going out.' 'Going out, miss! I'm glad of that. I hope it will make you feel better.' 'Nothing can make me feel worse,' thought Marie. CHAPTER VII. LOVE AND FAITH. When Marie got downstairs she found George restlessly pacing the hall. He stopped when he saw her, looked at her sadly, and held out his hand. She cast one rapid glance at him, and then, fixing her eyes on the floor, silently held out her hand to him. He stooped, kissed her glove, and then, having opened the door for her, she passed out, followed by him. 'Only my glove!' she thought. 'Only my glove!' As they turned out of Peter's Row he offered her his arm, and said,-- 'I want to have a quiet talk with you, Marie.' She said nothing. She looked down, counting the divisions in the flags as she passed.