But he did not do so. Something held him back, something kept him always in the vicinity of the girl he fancied he disliked more than ever now, for she seemed bent on keeping up their feud. She was so cool, so reserved, so dignified, taking as she said to herself grimly “a leaf out of his own book.” So apparently indifferent was she that many times when he lingered near her she remained in ignorance of his proximity, so that day when she thought herself alone for a minute with a charming novel, Cecil was quite close to her swinging in a luxurious hammock hung between two trees, his lazy, sleepy glance resting on the lovely, spirited face as it bent over the book. “Poor Madelon!” she sighed, referring to the heroine, and then there came a sudden interruption. A man had come straight across the greensward toward her--a young man with a grave, sad face, handsome but rather weak, while his attire, partaking wholly of the shabby genteel, proclaimed that he was certainly not a favorite of fortune. Cecil Laurens saw this man going toward Molly with a bright, eager light in his eyes, and he was filled with indignant wonder. “Does Miss Barry know that shabby man? Surely not,” he thought, and leaned forward to watch with jealous eyes. Molly was so intent on her reading that she heard and saw nothing until a shadow fell on her book as the man stopped by her side. She glanced up, and the face that Cecil was watching grew radiant with surprise and pleasure. “Johnny!” she exclaimed, and held out her little hand. He took it, clasped it tightly a moment, and Cecil heard him murmur, hoarsely: “How good you are! You never fail one! But I had no right to expect a welcome. It is the old story--no work yet, and no money to make a home for my darling! But I heard you all were here, and I could not keep from coming for just one sight of my cruel darling’s face, although I feared her reproaches. Where is--” “Hush-h-h!” Molly whispered, pinching his arm severely; “some one may hear us from the cottage yonder. Come this way, Johnny, toward the trees.” They moved away, and Cecil Laurens’ face grew dark and gloomy. “The impecunious lover has come upon the scene!” he muttered, with angry sarcasm. CHAPTER XIII. Molly Trueheart walked under the trees with that mysterious “Johnny” for a long half hour. While Cecil Laurens in the hammock raved and fretted against the little fraud, as he began to call her in his thoughts. “Suppose I go and bring her aunt upon the scene?” he thought, with grim resentment. Then he mentally shook himself. “Cecil Laurens, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! Where is your honor that you can be led away like this by petty spite? Let the girl alone. This is no business of yours!”