"Luke, there were matters passed of which you need know naught--at least no more than this. My father had offered to receive me back into his good-will once more, to let the past be blotted out, no longer to insist on Bess being wed to Fox, and to return to live at Hall." "Indeed!" exclaimed Luke, joyously. "Now can I see why Fox came to you, and why he struck you." "It was on one condition." "And that was----" "That I should leave Urith, and never speak to her again." "Anthony!" Luke's tone was full of terror and pain. "Oh, Anthony! Surely you never--never for one moment--not by half a word--gave consent, or semblance of consent, to this! It would--it would kill her! Oh, Anthony!" Luke put up both his hands on the pommel of the saddle, and clasped them. What light there was fell on his up-turned, ash-grey face. "Anthony, answer me. Has she been informed of that? She never thought you could be so cruel--so false; and she has loved you. My God! her whole heart has been given to you--to you, and to no one else; and you have not valued it as you should have done. Because you have had to lose this and that, you have resented it on her. She has had to bear your ill-humour--she has suffered, and has been saddened. And now--no! I cannot think it. You have not let her know that this offer was made." The sweat drops poured and rolled off Luke's brow. He looked up, and waited on Anthony for a reply. "She did know it," answered the latter, "but that was Fox's doing. He told her; and told her what was false, that I intended to accept the offer, and leave her. No, Luke, I have done many things that are wrong, I have been inconsiderate, but I could not do this. And now I bid you go to-morrow to my father, see him, and tell him my answer. That is expressed in one word--Never." Luke seized his hand, and wrung it. "That is my own dear cousin Anthony!" he said, and then added, "But why away at once, and Urith so ill?" "I must away at once. I cannot return to her." Anthony hesitated for some while; at last he said, in a low tone, "I will tell you why--she thinks me false to her, and in a measure I have been so. She thinks I no longer love her--and it is true. My love is dead. Luke--I cannot return." "Oh, Urith--poor Urith!" groaned the curate, and let his hands fall. "Now I go. Whatever haps, naught can be worse than the state of matters at present. If you can plead in any way for me, when I am away, do so. I would have her think better of me than she does--but I love her no more." Then he rode away. Luke remained on the bridge, looking over into the rushing water--the river was full. "Poor Urith! My God--and it was I--it was I who united them." Then he turned into the direction of Hall. "I will go there, and bear Anthony's message to his father at once." CHAPTER XLIII. AN EXPIRING CANDLE.