"Nearly a fortnight." "So long?" "I have been very much occupied," said Bothwell, divining that something had occurred to excite the General's suspicions, and that it behoved him to speak frankly of his new hopes. "I have been working a good deal harder than I have ever worked since I passed my last examination. But we are just going to start. May I get into the same carriage with you?" "If you like," said the General, which hardly sounded encouraging; but Bothwell, who was virtuously travelling third-class, got into a first-class compartment with the General. "And, pray, what new trade are you working at?" asked the old man, fixing Bothwell with the clear keen gaze of honest gray eyes, eyes which had almost the brightness of youth. Bothwell explained his new plans, the General listening with polite attention, but with none of the old friendliness, that cheery kindness which had so often been to Bothwell as a whip of scorpions, torturing him with the sense of his own meanness. "And, pray, what may be the motive of this industrious spurt?" asked the General. "What has inspired this idea of a useful life?" "A very old-fashioned and hackneyed motive, General. I am engaged to be married, and have to think of how I can best provide a home for my wife." "Indeed! Is the engagement of long standing?" "Not at all. I have been engaged within the last fortnight; but I have known and admired the lady for a long time." General Harborough looked at him searchingly. Was this a lie--a ready lie invented on the spur of the moment, to dispel suspicion? Bothwell had doubtless perceived the alteration in his old friend's feelings towards him; and he might consider this notion of an engagement the readiest way of throwing dust in a husband's eyes. "Do I know the young lady?" he asked quietly. "I think not. She has not been much away from her home, but her brother is a well-known personage in Plymouth. The lady is Hilda Heathcote, sister of Mr. Heathcote, the coroner for Cornwall." "Indeed! I have heard of Mr. Heathcote. So you are going to marry Miss Heathcote? Rather a good match, I suppose?" "I have never considered it from a worldly point of view. Miss Heathcote is a most lovable girl, and has all the charms and accomplishments which the most exacting lover could desire in his betrothed. I am infinitely proud of having won her." He met the General's eyes, and the steady light in his own was the light of truth. General Harborough doubted him no longer. If he had ever loved Valeria, that passion was extinct, dead as the flames of Dido's funeral pyre. The man who sat face to face with General Harborough to-day was a happy lover, his countenance radiant with the light of a pure and authorised love. "When are you going to be married?" asked the General, after a longish pause.