too ridiculous to be spoken of seriously. But could I? No, I felt that my face would burn, my voice falter, and my eyes droop before him, though why they should I could not guess, for I did not love him. No, that was an invention of Catherine's. She could not believe it herself. No one could for a single instant. "Grace, Grace," called Catherine's voice, on the stairs. I raised my head from the cushions, and smoothed my hair, but did not answer, and she rushed in. "Come downstairs; Cecil is here. He called specially to inquire how you were after last night's wetting." "You didn't say that, did you, Catherine?" I asked, eagerly. She laughed. "Perhaps I did, and perhaps I didn't." She would not answer, but ran off, telling me to follow her. I thought it better to do so, lest absenting myself should give colour to this absurd charge. So I took courage, and went down. I was afraid to look at Cecil as I entered. I felt my hand tremble like a leaf, as he took it, and I pinched it angrily as I drew it back. I thought I saw a laughing sprite in Catherine's eyes, but Cecil showed no sign. His kindness and refinement of nature would, however, I tormented myself by thinking, hinder him from doing so, in any case. He began to speak to me about the secret meeting we had discovered last night. He had gone back to the place, he said, but found it silent, and the gathering broken up. This morning he had received a letter which showed that some mischief was, indeed, going on. It appeared to be written by one of his tenantry, and warned him that there was some one in the place who was trying to put the people against him, and impugning his motives for interest in their welfare. Cecil said that he had made inquiries about the presence of any stranger in the neighbourhood, but unsuccessfully. Whoever it was must be carefully concealing himself, and had probably taken his quarters at some distance. up I suppose there must have been something unusual in my manner of listening and replying, as Cecil spoke, for he looked at me with a surprised and, as it seemed, perplexed glance, and said no more. "Grace is cross this morning," said Catherine. "Don't think about this stupid plotter, Cecil. He is an ass, whoever he is, to plot against you, and not Mr. Verney." "I have too much confidence in my tenantry to believe," returned Cecil," that, plot as he may, he could succeed in corrupting even a single man. I assure you, I have no anxiety on that head. I would willingly trust my life to any one of them." I did not accompany Catherine that day in her ride with Cecil. If her threat to me had been a jealous device, whether she had put it into execution or not, it would serve the purpose equally well. Uncertain as I was, I could never be the same as formerly with Cecil Nugent. After again seeing him two or three times, I did notice a change in his manner. It gradually became cold as my own, proud, and slightly embarrassed. Occasionally, too, I fancied that he directed a furtive glance towards me. I grew yet more cold, and soon |