Time at Monksmoor had advanced to the half hour before dinner, onSaturday evening.

Cecilia and Francine, Mr. Wyvil and Mirabel, were loitering inthe conservatory. In the drawing-room, Emily had beenconsiderately left alone with Alban. He had missed the earlytrain from Netherwoods; but he had arrived in time to dress fordinner, and to offer the necessary explanations.

If it had been possible for Alban to allude to the anonymousletter, he might have owned that his first impulse had led him todestroy it, and to assert his confidence in Emily by refusing Mr.Wyvil's invitation. But try as he might to forget them, the basewords that he had read remained in his memory. Irritating him atthe outset, they had ended in rousing his jealousy. Under thatdelusive influence, he persuaded himself that he had acted, inthe first instance, without due consideration. It was surely hisinterest--it might even be his duty--to go to Mr. Wyvil's house,and judge for himself. After some last wretched moments ofhesitation, he had decided on effecting a compromise with his ownbetter sense, by consulting Miss Ladd. That excellent lady didexactly what he had expected her to do. She made arrangementswhich granted him leave of absence, from the Saturday to theTuesday following. The excuse which had served him, intelegraphing to Mr. Wyvil, must now be repeated, in accountingfor his unexpected appearance to Emily. "I found a person to takecharge of my class," be said; "and I gladly availed myself of theopportunity of seeing you again."

After observing him attentively, while he was speaking to her,Emily owned, with her customary frankness, that she had noticedsomething in his manner which left her not quite at her ease.

"I wonder," she said, "if there is any foundation for a doubtthat has troubled me?" To his unutterable relief, she at onceexplained what the doubt was. "I am afraid I offended you, inreplying to your letter about Miss Jethro."

In this case, Alban could enjoy the luxury of speakingunreservedly. He confessed that Emily's letter had disappointedhim.

"I expected you to answer me with less reserve," he replied; "andI began to think I had acted rashly in writing to you at all.When there is a better opportunity, I may have a word to say--"He was apparently interrupted by something that he saw in theconservatory. Looking that way, Emily perceived that Mirabel wasthe object which had attracted Alban's attention. The vileanonymous letter was in his mind again. Without a preliminaryword to prepare Emily, he suddenly changed the subject. "How doyou like the clergyman?" he asked.

"Very much indeed," she replied, without the slightestembarrassment. "Mr. Mirabel is clever and agreeable--and not atall spoiled by his success. I am sure," she said innocently, "youwill like him too."

Alban's face answered her unmistakably in the negative sense--butEmily's attention was drawn the other way by Francine. She joinedthem at the moment, on the lookout for any signs of anencouraging result which her treachery might already haveproduced. Alban had been inclined to suspect her when he hadreceived the letter. He rose and bowed as she approached.Something--he was unable to r ealize what it was--told him, inthe moment when they looked at each other, that his suspicion hadhit the mark.

In the conservatory the ever-amiable Mirabel had left his friendsfor a while in search of flowers for Cecilia. She turned to herfather when they were alone, and asked him which of the gentlemenwas to take her in to dinner--Mr. Mirabel or Mr. Morris?

"Mr. Morris, of course," he answered. "He is the new guest--andhe turns out to be more than the equal, socially-speaking, of ourother friend. When I showed him his room, I asked if he wasrelated to a man who bore the same name--a fellow student ofmine, years and years ago, at college. He is my friend's youngerson; one of a ruined family--but persons of high distinction intheir day."

Mirabel returned with the flowers, just as dinner was announced.

"You are to take Emily to-day," Cecilia said to him, leading theway out of the conservatory. As they entered the drawing-room,Alban was just offering his arm to Emily. "Papa gives you to me,Mr. Morris," Cecilia explained pleasantly. Alban hesitated,apparently not understanding the allusion. Mirabel interferedwith his best grace: "Mr. Wyvil offers you the honor of takinghis daughter to the dining-room." Alban's face darkenedominously, as the elegant little clergyman gave his arm to Emily,and followed Mr. Wyvil and Francine out of the room. Cecilialooked at her silent and surly companion, and almost envied herlazy sister, dining--under cover of a convenient headache--in herown room.

Having already made up his mind that Alban Morris requiredcareful handling, Mirabel waited a little before he led theconversation as usual. Between the soup and the fish, he made aninteresting confession, addressed to Emily in the strictestconfidence.

"I have taken a fancy to your friend Mr. Morris," he said. "Firstimpressions, in my case, decide everything; I like people ordislike them on impulse. That man appeals to my sympathies. Is hea good talker?"

"I should say Yes," Emily answered prettily, "if _you_ were notpresent."

Mirabel was not to be beaten, even by a woman, in the art ofpaying compliments. He looked admiringly at Alban (sittingopposite to him), and said: "Let us listen."

This flattering suggestion not only pleased Emily--it artfullyserved Mirabel's purpose. That is to say, it secured him anopportunity for observation of what was going on at the otherside of the table.

Alban's instincts as a gentleman had led him to control hisirritation and to regret that he had suffered it to appear.Anxious to please, he presented himself at his best. GentleCecilia forgave and forgot the angry look which had startled her.Mr. Wyvil was delighted with the son of his old friend. Emilyfelt secretly proud of the good opinions which her admirer wasgathering; and Francine saw with pleasure that he was assertinghis claim to Emily's preference, in the way of all others whichwould be most likely to discourage his rival. These variousimpressions--produced while Alban's enemy was ominouslysilent--began to suffer an imperceptible change, from the momentwhen Mirabel decided that his time had come to take the lead. Aremark made by Alban offered him the chance for which he had beenon the watch. He agreed with the remark; he enlarged on theremark; he was brilliant and familiar, and instructive andamusing--and still it was all due to the remark. Alban's temperwas once more severely tried. Mirabel's mischievous object hadnot escaped his penetration. He did his best to put obstacles inthe adversary's way--and was baffled, time after time, with thereadiest ingenuity. If he interrupted--the sweet-temperedclergyman submitted, and went on. If he differed--modest Mr.Mirabel said, in the most amiable manner, "I daresay I am wrong,"and handled the topic from his opponent's point of view. Neverhad such a perfect Christian sat before at Mr. Wyvil's table: nota hard word, not an impatient look, escaped him. The longer Albanresisted, the more surely he lost ground in the generalestimation. Cecilia was disappointed; Emily was grieved; Mr.Wyvil's favorable opinion began to waver; Francine was disgusted.When dinner was over, and the carriage was waiting to take theshepherd back to his flock by moonlight, Mirabel's triumph wascomplete. He had made Alban the innocent means of publiclyexhibiting his perfect temper and perfect politeness, under theirbest and brightest aspect.

So that day ended. Sunday promised to pass quietly, in theabsence of Mirabel. The morning came--and it seemed doubtfulwhether the promise would be fulfilled.

Francine had passed an uneasy night. No such encouraging resultas she had anticipated had hitherto followed the appearance ofAlban Morris at Monksmoor. He had clumsily allowed Mirabel toimprove his position--while he had himself lost ground--inEmily's estimation. If this first disastrous consequence of themeeting between the two men was permitted to repeat itself onfuture occasions, Emily and Mirabel would be brought more closelytogether, and Alban himself would be the unhappy cause of it.Francine rose, on the Sunday morning, before the table was laidfor breakfast--resolved to try the effect of a timely word ofadvice.

Her bedroom was situated in the front of the house. The man shewas looking for presently passed within her range of view fromthe window, on his way to take a morning walk in the park. Shefollowed him immediately.

"Good-morning, Mr. Morris."

He raised his hat and bowed--without speaking, and withoutlooking at her.

"We resemble each other in one particular," she proceeded,graciously; "we both like to breathe the fresh air beforebreakfast."

He said exactly what common politeness obliged him to say, and nomore--he said, "Yes."

Some girls might have been discouraged. Francine went on.

"It is no fault of mine, Mr. Morris, that we have not been betterfriends. For some reason, into which I don't presume to inquire,you seem to distrust me. I really don't know what I have done todeserve it."

"Are you sure of that?" he asked--eying her suddenly andsearchingly as he spoke.

Her hard face settled into a rigid look; her eyes met his eyeswith a stony defiant stare. Now, for the first time, she knewthat he suspected her of having written the anonymous letter.Every evil quality in her nature steadily defied him. A hardenedold woman could not have sustained the shock of discovery with amore devilish composure than this girl displayed. "Perhaps youwill explain yourself," she said.

"I _have_ explained myself," he answered.

"Then I must be content," she rejoined, "to remain in the dark. Ihad intended, out of my regard for Emily, to suggest that youmight--with advantage to yourself, and to interests that are verydear to you--be more careful in your behavior to Mr. Mirabel. Areyou disposed to listen to me?"

"Do you wish me to answer that question plainly, Miss de Sor?"

"I insist on your answering it plainly."

"Then I am _not_ disposed to listen to you."

"May I know why? or am I to be left in the dark again?"

"You are to be left, if you please, to your own ingenuity."

Francine looked at him, with a malignant smile. "One of thesedays, Mr. Morris--I will deserve your confidence in myingenuity." She said it, and went back to the house.

This was the only element of disturbance that troubled theperfect tranquillity of the day. What Francine had proposed todo, with the one idea of making Alban serve her purpose, wasaccomplished a few hours later by Emily's influence for good overthe man who loved her.

They passed the afternoon together uninterruptedly in the distantsolitudes of the park. In the course of conversation Emily foundan opportunity of discreetly alluding to Mirabel. "You mustn't bejealous of our clever little friend," she said; "I like him, andadmire him; but--"

"But you don't love him?"

She smiled at the eager way in which Alban put the question.

"There is no fear of that," she answered brightly.

"Not even if you discovered that he loves you?"

"Not even then. Are you content at last? Promise me not to berude to Mr. Mirabel again."

"For his sake?"

"No--for my sake. I don't like to see you place yourself at adisadvantage toward another man; I don't like you to disappointme."

The happiness of hearing her say those words transfiguredhim--the manly beauty of his earlier and happier years seemed tohave returned to Alban. He took her hand--he was too agitated tospeak.

"You are forgetting Mr. Mirabel," she reminded him gently.

"I will be all that is civil and kind to Mr. Mirabel; I will likehim and admire him as you do. Oh, Emily, are you a little, only avery little, fond of me?"

"I don't quite know."

"May I try to find out?"

"How?" she asked.

Her fair cheek was very near to him. The softly-rising color onit said, Answer me here--and he answered.