"And Miss Dacre?" piped Mrs. Hill. "Will
she not also come and dine with us?"

"I fear we should be bad company to-night,"
put in Rachel, quickly. "We shall be so
tired; it would be a poor compliment to ask
her to come and look at us nodding in our
chairs. Say to-morrow, instead. Margery
Dacre, will you come and spend a long day with
us to-morrow?"

But Margery Dacre had at that moment no
wish to spend such a day. I said, "No, thank
you, Miss Leonard; I shall be otherwise
engaged both to-day and to-morrow." And then,
feeling that I had spoken very coldly, and seeing
that she looked troubled, I added, forcing a
smile, "The winter will be long enough for our
civilities."

"But not for our friendship, I trust," she
replied, quickly, seizing my hands, while her face
cleared, and sincerity seemed to beam out of it,
like the sun out of a May sky. I felt her
fascination; but it sickened me somehow, and I
dropped her hands, and thought of saying good
morning to the group, and returning to the farm
alone, so that John might not feel himself
hindered from going to breakfast as well as to
dine with these new old friends of his who
were so eager for his company. But before I
had time to act upon the thought Mr. Hill
handed Rachel into the carriage, followed her
himself, and the carriage rolled away. John
and I were left standing there together; I,
stupid, like one awakened from a dream, staring
at the wheel-marks on the snow and at other
signs which these people, in passing, had left
behind them.

I turned and walked on silently towards the
farm, and John walked beside me. A weight
of doubt and wonder pressed on my heart like
a load of ice. Why had John wanted to
conceal from me his acquaintance with Rachel
Leonard? Why had they both been so strangely
moved at meeting? I longed to ask a question;
but I could not find my voice. I longed
for John to speak, and tell me something—
anything at all that he liked; and were it the
strangest puzzle that ever failed to be
unriddled, I swore to my own heart that I would
believe him.

"Margery," said John, speaking as if in
answer to my thought—and he came nearer to
me, for we had walked a little apart, and drew
my hand through his arm, and looked down in
my face—"Margery," he said, "look me straight
in the eyes," and I looked, and saw them full
of grievous trouble.

"You are blaming me in your heart," he
said, "and saying to yourself that I have
deceived you. Will you trust me that I did not
mean to do so? I have got a cruel shock,
dearest, and I beg of you to be kind and
forbearing with me. I owe you an explanation,
and I will give it the earliest moment I can.
I cannot till I see further. In the meantime,
I swear to you that there is nothing in this
that should shake your faith in me. Do you
trust me, Margery?"

"I would trust you against the whole world,
John!" I cried, in a sudden remorse for having
ever doubted him. And, smiling and happy, I
walked by the side of his horse that evening
down the avenue, and kissed my hand to him
over the gate as he rode away to dine at the
hall.

"Do not say anything to my mother about
my knowing Miss Leonard," he said, the last
thing at parting; and I nodded and said no,
not unless he bade me; and I tried not to
wonder, and went back to the house satisfied.
And I was very merry all the evening; but at
night, in my bed, I listened for his return. An
evil spirit reminded me of Rachel's face when
John said "I will go," and her quickness in
arranging that I should not accompany him.
I said, "Margery, I am ashamed of you;
curiosity and jealousy are hateful; have nothing
to do with them." And I turned on my pillow
and prayed for John; and then I heard him
coming into the house. So utterly still was
everything by reason of the snow, that I heard
his every movement. Even after he had closed
his door, I thought I heard him walking about
his room. And the wonder leaped up in me
again—why was he troubled? why could he
not rest? I got up, and laid my heart and
ear against his door in a passion of dismay and
sympathy. Up and down, up and down; no
thought of sleep after his fatigue. Oh, what
was this that had come between us? I went
back to my bed and wept.

That was the first beginning of the trouble
about Rachel Leonard. From that day a
shadow hung upon John. He went often to
the hall, for Mr. Hill fastened upon him, and
delighted in him, and would not live without
him. But the more he went to the hall, the
more the trouble grew upon him; and I could
not but date its beginning from the arrival of
Rachel Leonard, seeing that, before he met her
that morning upon the road, he had seemed as
radiantly happy as it is possible for any man
to be. And the more the trouble grew upon
him, the more reserved he became on the
subject of the people at the hall. His mother
began to guess that he must be annoyed with
business, and the girls to fancy that he and
I had quarrelled. And I silently let them
think that it was so, the better to keep his
secret.

My own heart was aching, but I would not
speak. I had promised not to doubt him, and
I feared lest he should think, even by my face
or manner, that I was weak enough to break
my word.

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