kind, and so-yes, I am sure he is so very much in love, that now is my time. Then, Colonel Aytoun, I defy you.' And so, with hardly a thought of what she was going to do, she rushed into the subject.

"You have told me a great deal that must have been very hard for you to tell; it would be a poor return if I were to conceal anything about this matter. The truth is then, Mr Smith, I cannot be quite as decided as I should wish in forbidding Colonel Aytoun the house."

He looked attentive.

"Do you remember my telling you I had been a giddy girl?"

"Yes."

"And you would not believe me; but you must now." Surely if I must, it is no such great crime in one so young and so- -well?"

66

"You must believe it, because it has given Colonel Aytoun a hold over me.'

"Then the hold is gone."

"Gone? Yes, in a way.

But even when the hold is gone, there are broken ends remaining. Don't you see?" "I see," he said, gravely.

"I will tell you the truth, and the whole truth, Mr Smith; all I ask you to believe is, that it is the whole. Bad as my behaviour was with Colonel Aytoun, there is nothing lying behind what I confess."

He breathed more freely.

"I was only seventeen when we stayed at the Abbey," continued Miss Tolleton; "and I thought Colonel Aytoun then all that was delightful. He took pains to be so-he did indeed. Mrs Aytoun was ill, as I said, and there was nobody to interfere. My father never sees these things. I know that people made remarks-it was natural they should. In plain terms, we flirted together horribly. For myself, I can only say I never look back on that time without shame. Oh, you don't know how I hate myself whenever I think of it!"

She had done it now, for better for worse. The truth

was out.

To say he was not startled, not shocked, would be untrue. Only seventeen! Was that a palliation or aggravation of the offence?

Р

Flirted horribly with a married man! remarks!

People made

Her words seemed to have burnt themselves into his brain.

He had called her a model of discretion. Had any one else asserted what he now heard from her own lips, he would have scorned the calumny. Had the same thing been said of any other girl among his acquaintance, he would mentally have contrasted her with the prudent, gracious, all-charming one beside him. He could hardly credit it. He felt a stagger in his faith. His idol shook.

It was another blow of the kind Philip had struck him the night before. That, he had rallied from. It had passed, and left scarcely a mark; but this was a deeper one. He felt it through and through.

All this Helen marked. True, her eyes were on the ground, and her head averted; but her woman's instinct told her as certainly as if he had spoken the words, that he was unprepared for this.

She felt him pause; she felt his bewilderment, his stunned surprise. She wished she had let well alone.

If she had only stopped short of the whole! All had been well, up to a certain point, and then it had miscarried. If she had owned to knowing Colonel Aytoun intimately, and then, on discovering more of his character, wishing to shake him off, it would have been sufficient. So far he had understood, and approved.

Now, by one false step she had ruined all. Why could she not have held her tongue? What prompted her to be so unnecessarily candid? She resolved that whatever came of it, nothing should ever induce her to speak upon impulse again.

Yet she had thought she could trust him. She had fancied-strange, foolish fancy!—that he was more noble than he proved to be.

If she had fallen in his eyes, so had he in hers.

All this passed in the two or three minutes' silence which followed her confession. Each was occupied with thoughts of the other.

"We had better come now, perhaps," said Miss Tolleton, at last. Her voice was hard and cold, and she rose as she spoke. "You have heard all I had to tell, and will un

derstand it would not be pleasant for me to have it repeated."

He had risen involuntarily, as she did, and their eyes

met.

There was a forlorn look in hers which belied the measured words, and in an instant all was changed.

"I cannot go yet."

66

Why not, Mr Smith? We have nothing further to say to each other, I imagine. The subject has occupied us long enough, and for the future we will, if you please, drop it. I shall be wanted at home now."

"You may have nothing more to say to me, but I, Miss Tolleton, ought to have something to say to you. Pray, pray do not turn away. Hear me, though I do not deserve it.. I cannot express my feelings on hearing you so nobly, so generously, avow an indiscretion which your present true, gentle, maidenly modesty only contradicts too flatly. If for a moment that very contradiction, being so extreme, made the revelation startling, it was but for a moment. Can you forgive that moment? I ought not to have hesitated, but I hesitate no longer; my regard and esteem for you are higher than ever."

Her eyes filled with tears.

"Dear lady," he said, taking her hand, "you told me this, taking me for a friend. Will you not forgive your

friend?

"No, how could you? You did not dream of so harsh, so unjust a judge. A counsellor you wished, and found a father confessor, ready with penances and paternosters. That's right; let me see you smile again. Now I know we are friends."

"If you will be friends with me.”

"Hush! Not a word of that sort; you must not be hard upon me. Friends with you indeed!" She almost thought he would have kissed her hand, but he only held it, pressed it, and let it go.

I

"That is settled then. And now one word more. know this Aytoun well. He is a bully and a coward. You have in reality nothing to fear from him. Let him say what he will, he is nowhere believed. Of you he may say what he likes. Nothing will so effectually give the

lie to any slur he would cast on Miss Tolleton as a knowledge of herself."

"Shall we come now?" said Helen.

On the

CHAPTER XXV.

THE END OF THE WALK.

way home conversation slid into easier topics. Mr Smith's manner was grave, but Helen felt that it lacked none of its former interest. She too was thoughtful. What had passed within the last hour had touched her in more ways than one, and she felt in no mood for gaiety.

If he had asked her at that time to be his wife, she would have vowed with all her heart that that heart should be his, his truly, and his only, till death did them part. But he did not ask her.

Towards the entrance of the wood path, and just behind a bend in the hill which concealed it from passers-by, a shallow stream trickled across the way. In summer time it was dry, and even when full was easily crossed by means of stepping-stones. During the frost it had been frozen over, and was scarcely distinguishable from the path.

Mr Smith and his companion had crossed on their way up without noticing that they had done so; but ere they returned the sun had so far softened the ice as to leave some of the stones, which had been taken out of their places by the former floods, loose.

On one of these Helen 'placed her foot. It overturned, and she fell her full length on the path.

With an expression of concern, Mr Smith attempted to raise her, but to his surprise and her own the attempt was followed by such pain as to make her cry out, and the colour leave her face.

"Wait a minute, please," she gasped; "this will go off." But attempting to say more, her voice failed, and her eyes closed with a look of suffering.

He bade her lean on him, and tried again to raise her in

his arms, but in vain. After the fall, she had, with the first involuntary exertion, drawn herself up into a sitting posture, but this she was unable to change.

It was evident that the hurt was severe, and she confessed to a fear of having sprained her ankle.

"It gives me such a twinge," she said, "if I make the slightest effort to move it, that I am afraid it must be a sprain; but perhaps it may go off-in a few minutes-I hope; wait a minute

"There is no hurry-do not think of moving," said he, soothingly. "By-and-by we can try again. Perhaps you would take my stick-or my arm," hesitatingly. "But do not move yet. Unless, indeed, the ground is so wet-do you think you can?" for she was making another effort.

He put his hand under her elbow, he put his arm round her waist, and she struggled to the bank; but there the eyes closed again, and a convulsive twitching of the lips made him kneel beside her, terrified.

"Dear Miss Tolleton, what shall we do? You must have help. You must have a surgeon, and

"Oh no, no surgeon; it is really not worth while!" she cried, suppressing with difficulty exclamations of pain. “I only feel a little sick and faint. Ah!" with relief, as her hat was gently taken off, and a wet handkerchief applied to the forehead-"I shall be better now."

Her head sank down upon his shoulder. She did not half know what she was saying, but she was perfectly conscious whom she was saying it to. Sick though she was, and faint, and bearing her pain as bravely as she could, she was racking her brains all the while to consider how best to extricate herself from what might prove an unpleasant dilemma.

If possible she must walk home. The stick would be a help, but his arm she hardly could accept. How if she had to do it, however? How if she could not walk at all? Even so it proved. She could not walk by any possibility, with any assistance. Every fresh attempt brought on a fresh spasm, and at last the joint began to ache and throb even in repose. It was clear that there was no prospect of her being able to move, far less to walk any distance.

Matters began to look grave. Each grew conscious that

the accident was more serious than it had seemed at first.