ade　a　vigorous　bound　for　the　attainment　of　liberty。　But　he　curbed　it；　I　think；　as　a　resolute　rider　would　curb　a　rearing　steed。　He　responded　neither　by　word　nor　movement　to　the　gentle　advances　made　him。

“Papa　says　you　never　e　to　see　us　now；”　continued　Miss　Oliver；　looking　up。　“You　are　quite　a　stranger　at　Vale　Hall。　He　is　alone　this　evening；　and　not　very　well：　will　you　return　with　me　and　visit　him？”

“It　is　not　a　seasonable　hour　to　intrude　on　Mr。　Oliver；”　answered　St。　John。

“Not　a　seasonable　hour！　But　I　declare　it　is。　It　is　just　the　hour　when　papa　most　wants　pany：　when　the　works　are　closed　and　he　has　no　business　to　occupy　him。　Now；　Mr。　Rivers；　do　e。　Why　are　you　so　very　shy；　and　so　very　sombre？”　She　filled　up　the　hiatus　his　silence　left　by　a　reply　of　her　own。

“I　forgot！”　she　exclaimed；　shaking　her　beautiful　curled　head；　as　if　shocked　at　herself。　“I　am　so　giddy　and　thoughtless！　Do　excuse　me。　It　had　slipped　my　memory　that　you　have　good　reasons　to　be　indisposed　for　joining　in　my　chatter。　Diana　and　Mary　have　left　you；　and　Moor　House　is　shut　up；　and　you　are　so　lonely。　I　am　sure　I　pity　you。　Do　e　and　see　papa。”

“Not　to…night；　Miss　Rosamond；　not　to…night。”

Mr。　St。　John　spoke　almost　like　an　automaton：　himself　only　knew　the　effort　it　cost　him　thus　to　refuse。

“Well；　if　you　are　so　obstinate；　I　will　leave　you；　for　I　dare　not　stay　any　longer：　the　dew　begins　to　fall。　Good　evening！”

She　held　out　her　hand。　He　just　touched　it。　“Good　evening！”　he　repeated；　in　a　voice　low　and　hollow　as　an　echo。　She　turned；　but　in　a　moment　returned。

“Are　you　well？”　she　asked。　Well　might　she　put　the　question：　his　face　was　blanched　as　her　gown。

“Quite　well；”　he　enunciated；　and；　with　a　bow；　he　left　the　gate。　She　went　one　way；　he　another。　She　tur