“No, no; do not fancy for a moment that anything like that happened,” said Agnes. “I am afraid--no--I should say that I hope--I hope with all my soul that you may never know the reason for his estrangement. It is a valid reason--I can give you that assurance; but I dare tell you no more. Now come away, my dear child. Whatever has occurred be sure that no blame attaches to you. Claude Westwood himself would never think for a moment that you are to blame. Oh, my Clare, you are only to be pitied.” The girl stood irresolute for a few minutes, then she said: “It is all a mystery--a terrible mystery! But God is above us--I will trust in God.” In the afternoon Clare went to her room to lie down, and before she had been gone many minutes Sir Percival Hope called at The Knoll. When he took Agnes's hand he looked inquiringly at her. His expression seemed to say: “Is the time come yet?” He did not let her hand go. She did not withdraw it. He could not fail to see the little flush that had come to her face. “What you have suffered!” he said. “What you are suffering still! You did not sleep last night. My poor Agnes! I know now that I did not give you the right advice. You should not have been patient with him. You should not have hoped that he would be brought to you again. If I had given you the advice which my heart prompted me to give I would have said otherwise to you; but I wanted to see you made happy, and I thought that your happiness lay in patience.” “You were wrong,” she said, with a wan smile. “I was patient, but no happiness came to me.” “And you still love him?” said he in a low voice. She snatched her hand away.