They parted after this not with the same enthusiasm on Rollo’s part as that which existed on Lottie’s. She was chilled, too, thinking he was angry with her for not yielding to his desire; and this overcast her happiness, but not seriously. They stole down by the side of the Abbey, in the shadow--Lottie talking, Rollo silent. When they came within sight of the cloister gate and the line of the lodges opposite, Lottie withdrew her hand from his arm. The road looked empty and dark; but who could tell what spectator might suddenly appear? She took his _rôle_ in the eagerness of her heart to make up to him for any vexation her refusal might have given. “Don’t come any further,” she whispered; “let us part here; someone might see us.” In her eagerness to make up to him for her own unkindness, she allowed the necessity for keeping that secret--though to think of it as a secret had wounded her before. Nevertheless, when he took her at her word and left her, Lottie, like the fanciful girl she was, felt a pang of disappointment and painfully realised her own desolateness, the dismal return all alone to the house out of which every quality of kindness had gone. Her heart sank, and with reluctant, lingering steps she came out of the Abbey shadow and began to cross the Dean’s Walk, her forlorn figure moving slowly against the white line of the road and the grey of the wintry sky. Someone was standing at the door as she came in sight of her father’s house. It was Captain Despard himself, looking out. “Is that you, Lottie?” he called out, peering into the gloom. “Come in, come in; where have you been? You must not stay out again, making everybody anxious.” Then he came out a step or two from his door and spoke in a whisper: “You know what a woman’s tongue is,” he said; “they have a great deal to answer for; but when they get excited, what can stop them? You must try not to pay any attention; be sensible, and don’t mind--no more than I do,” Captain Despard said. CHAPTER XXXV. FAMILY DUTY: ACCORDING TO MRS. DESPARD.