when arthur bohun rose the next morning, his senses had returned to him. that ellen adair's love was his, and that no fear existed of her accepting any other man, let him be prince or peasant, reason assured him. he wanted to see her; for that his heart was always yearning; but on this morning when, as it seemed, he had been judging her harshly, the necessity seemed overwhelmingly great. his impatient feet would have carried him to mrs. cumberland's immediately after breakfast; but his spirit was a little rebellious still, and kept him back. he would not betray his impatience, he thought; would not go down until the afternoon; and he began to resort to all sorts of expedients for killing time. he walked with richard north the best part of the way to dallory: he came back and wrote to his aunt, miss bohun; he went sauntering about the flower-beds with mr. north. as the day wore on towards noon, his restless feet betook him to ham lane--which the reader has not visited since he saw dr. rane hastening through it on the dark and troubled night that opened this history. the hedges were green now, beautiful with their dog-roses of delicate pink and white, giving out the perfume of sweet-briar. captain bohun went along, switching at these same pleasant hedges with his cane. avoiding the turning that would take him to dallory ham, he continued his way to another and less luxurious lane; the lane that skirted the back of the houses of the ham, familiarly called by their inhabitants "the back lane." strolling onwards, he had the satisfaction of finding himself passing the dead wall of mrs. cumberland's garden, and of seeing the roof and chimneys of her house. should he go round and call? a few steps lower down, just beyond dr. rane's, was an opening that would take him there, a public-house at its corner. he had told himself he would not go until the afternoon, and now it was barely twelve o'clock; should he call, or should he not call?

moving on, in his indecision, at a slow pace, he had arrived just opposite dr. rane's back garden door, when it suddenly opened, and the doctor himself came forth.

"ah, how d'ye do?" said the doctor, rather surprised at seeing arthur bohun there. "were you coming in this way? the door was bolted."

"only taking a stroll," carelessly replied captain bohun. "how's bessy?"

"quite well. she is in the dining-room, if you'll come in and see her."

nothing loth, arthur bohun stepped in at once, the doctor continuing his way. mrs. rane was darning stockings. she and arthur had always been the very best of friends, quite brother and sister. meek and gentle as ever, she looked, sitting there with her smooth, curling hair, and the loving expression in her mild, soft eyes! arthur sat down and talked with her, his glance roving ever to that other house, seeking the form of one whom he did not see.

"do you know how mrs. cumberland is this morning?" he inquired of bessy.

"i have not heard. mr. seeley has been there; for i saw him in the dining-room with ellen adair."

arthur bohun's pulses froze to ice.

"i think they are both in the garden now."

"are they?" snapped arthur. "his patients must get on nicely if he idles away his mornings in a garden."

bessy looked up from her darning. "i don't mean that seeley's there, arthur--i mean mrs. cumberland and ellen."

as bessy spoke, jelly was seen to come out of mrs. cumberland's house, penetrate the trees, and return with her mistress.

"some one has called, i suppose," remarked bessy.

captain bohun thought the gods had made the opportunity for himself expressly. he went out, stepped over the small fence, and disappeared in the direction that mrs. cumberland had come from, believing it would lead him to ellen adair.

in the secluded and beautiful spot where we first saw her--but where we shall not often, alas! see her again--she sat. the flowers of early spring were out then; the richer summer flowers were blooming now. a natural bower of roses seemed to encompass her; the cascade was trickling softly as ever down the artificial rocks, murmuring its monotonous cadence; the birds sang to each other from branch to branch; glimpses of the green lawn and of brilliant flowers were caught through the trees. ellen adair had sometimes thought the spot beautiful as a scene in fairy-land. it was little less so.

she was not working this morning. an open book lay before her on the rustic table; her cheek was leaning on her raised hand, from which the lace fell back; a hand so suspiciously delicate as to betoken a want of sound strength in its owner. she wore a white dress, with a bow of pink ribbon at the throat, and a pink waistband. there were times, and this was one of them, when she looked extremely fragile.

a sound of footsteps. ellen only thought it was mrs. cumberland returning, and read on. but there was a different sound in these steps as they gained on her ear. her heart stood still, and then bounded on again tumultuously, her pulses tingled, her sweet face turned red as the blushing rose. sunshine had come.

"good-morning, miss adair."

in cold, resentful, haughty tones was it spoken, and he did not attempt to shake hands. the sunshine seemed to go in again with a sweep. she closed her book and opened it, her fingers fluttering. captain bohun put down his hat on the seat.

"i thought seeley might be here," said he, seeking out a lovely rose, and plucking it carefully.

"seeley!" she exclaimed.

"seeley. i beg your pardon. i did not know i spoke indistinctly. seeley."

he stood and faced her, watching the varying colour of her face, the soft blushes going and coming. somehow they increased his anger.

"may i ask if you have accepted him?"

"ac--cepted him!" she stammered, in wild confusion. "accepted what?"

"the offer that seeley made you last night."

"it was not last night," she replied in a confused impulse.

"oh, then it was this morning! may i congratulate you, or not?"

ellen adair turned to her book in deep vexation. she had been caught, as it were, into making the tacit admission that mr. seeley had made her an offer. and she was hurt at arthur bohun's words and tone. had he no more trust in her than this? as she turned the leaves of the book in her agitation, the plain gold ring on her finger attracted his sight. he was chafing inwardly, but he strove to appear at careless ease, and sat down as far from her as the bench allowed.

"i would be honourable if i died for it," he remarked with indifference, looking at the rose. "is it quite the thing for you to listen to another man whilst you wear that ring upon your finger?"

ellen took it off and pushed it towards him along the table.

this frightened him. he turned as white as ashes. until now, he had only been speaking in jealousy, not in belief. her own face was becoming white, her lips were compressed to hide their trembling. and thus they sat for a minute or two. he looked at the ring, then looked at her.

"do you mean it, ellen?" he asked, in a voice that struggled with agitation, proving how very earnest he deemed the thing was becoming--whatever it might have begun in.

she made no answer.

"do you wish to give me back this ring?"

"what you said was, i thought, equivalent to asking for it."

"it was not. you know better."

"why are you quarrelling with me?"

moving an inch nearer, he changed his tone to gentleness, bending his head forward.

"heaven knows that it is bitter enough to do so. have i cause, ellen?"

her eyes were bent down: the colour stole into her face again; a half-smile parted her lips.

"you know, ellen, it is perfectly monstrous that a common man like seeley should dare to cast his aspiring thoughts to you."

"was it my fault?" she returned. "he ought to have seen that--that--i should not like it."

"what did you tell him?"

"that it was quite impossible; that he was making a mistake altogether. when he was gone, i complained to mrs. cumberland."

"insolent jackanapes! was he rude, ellen?"

"rude! mr. seeley!" she returned in surprise. "quite the contrary. he has always been as considerate and deferential as a man can be. you look down on his position, arthur, but he is as great a gentleman in mind as you are."

"i only despise his position when he would seek to unite you to it."

"it has been very wrong of you to make me confess this. i can tell you i am feeling anything but 'honourable,' as you put it just now. there are things that should never be talked about; this is one of them. nothing can be more unfair."

very unfair. captain bohun's right feeling had come back to him, and he could only assent to it. he began to feel a little ashamed of himself on more points than one.

"it shall never escape my lips, ellen, whilst i breathe. seeley's secret is safe for me."

taking up the ring, he held it for a moment, as if examining the gold. ellen rose and went outside. the interview was becoming a very conscious one. he caught her up near the cascade, took her right hand in his, and slipped the ring upon her third finger.

"how many times has it been off?" he asked.

"never until to-day."

"well, there it is again, ellen. cherish it still. i hope--that ere long----"

he did not finish, but she understood quite well what he meant. their eyes met, and each read the impassioned love seated within the other; strangely pure withal, and idealistic as ever poet dreamed of. he strained the hand in his.

"forgive my petulance, my darling."

excepting the one sweet word and the lingering pressure of the hand; excepting that the variegated rose was transferred from his possession to hers, the interview had been wholly wanting in the fond signs and tokens that are commonly supposed to attend the intercourse of lovers. captain bohun had hitherto abstained from using them, and perhaps heaven alone knew what the self-denial cost him. in his unusually refined nature he may have deemed that they would be unjustifiable, until he could speak out openly and say, will you be my wife?

"what is your book, ellen?" he asked, as she returned to take it up from the table.

"longfellow."

"longfellow! shall i read some of it to you? can you remain out?"

"i can do so until one o'clock; luncheon-time."

they sat down, and he began "the courtship of miles standish." the blue sky shone down upon them through the flickering leaves, the cascade trickled, the bees hummed in the warm air, the white butterflies sported with the buds and flowers: and ellen adair, her hands clasping that treasure they held, the rose, her eyes falling on it to hide their happiness, listened in wrapt attention, for the voice was sweeter to her than any out of heaven.

the words of another poet most surely were applicable to this period of the existence of captain bohun and ellen adair. one of them at least would acknowledge it amidst the bitterness of afterlife.

"love took up the glass of time, and turned it in his glowing hands;

every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands."

it could not last--speaking now only of the hour. one o'clock came all too soon; when he had seemingly read about ten minutes; and miles standish had to be left in the most unsatisfactory condition. ellen rose: she must hasten in.

"it is a pity to break off here," said arthur. "shall i come and finish it this afternoon?"

ellen shook her head. in the afternoon she would have to drive out with mrs. cumberland.

captain bohun went home through the green lanes, and soon found himself amidst those other flowers--mr. north's. that gentleman came forth from his room to meet him, apparently in some tribulation, a letter in hand.

"oh, arthur, i don't know what to say to you; i am so sorry," he exclaimed. "look here. when the postman came this morning, i happened to be out on the lawn, and he gave me my two letters, as i thought, and as he must have thought too, going on to the hall-door with the rest. i put them into my pocket and forgot them, arthur: my spectacles were indoors. when i remembered them only just now, i found one was directed to you in sir nash's handwriting. i am so sorry," repeated poor mr. north in his helpless manner.

"don't be sorry, sir," replied arthur cheerily. "it's nothing; not of the least consequence at all," he added, opening the letter. nevertheless, as his eyes fell on the contents, a rather startled expression crossed his face.

"there!" cried mr. north. "something's wrong, and the delay has done mischief."

"indeed nothing's wrong--in the sense you are thinking," repeated arthur--for he would not have added to the poor old man's troubles for the world. "my uncle says james is not as well as he could wish: he wants me to go up at once and stay with them. you can read it for yourself, sir."

mr. north put on his glasses. "i see, arthur. you might have gone the first thing this morning, but for my keeping the letter. it was very stupid of the postman to give it to me."

arthur laughed. "indeed, i should have made no such hurry. there's not the least necessity for that. i think i shall go up this afternoon, though."

"yes, do, arthur. and explain to sir nash that it was my fault. tell him that i am growing forgetful and useless. fit only to be cut down, arthur; only to be cut down."

arthur bohun put the old man's arm affectionately within his, and took him back to his parlour. if mr. north had grown old it was with worry, not with years: the worry dealt daily out to him by madam; and arthur would have remedied it with his best blood had he known how.

"you had better go up with me, sir; for a little change. sir nash would be glad to see you."

"i go up with you! i couldn't, arthur; i am not equal to it now. and the strike is on, you know, and my place ought to be here while it lasts. the men look upon me still as their master, though dick--dick acts. and there's another thing, arthur--i couldn't leave my roses just as they have come into bloom."

arthur bohun smiled; the last reason was all powerful. mr. north stayed behind, and he went up that same afternoon to london.