ISABEL looked down at the letter in her hand--considered it insilence--and turned to Moody. "I feel tempted to open italready," she said.

"After giving your promise?" Moody gently remonstrated.

Isabel met that objection with a woman's logic.

"Does a promise matter?" she asked, "when one gives it to adirty, disreputable, presuming old wretch like Mr. Sharon? It's awonder to me that you trust such a creature. _I_ wouldn't!"

"I doubted him just as you do," Moody answered, "when I first sawhim in company with Mr. Troy. But there was something in theadvice he gave us at that first consultation which altered myopinion of him for the better. I dislike his appearance and hismanners as much as you do--I may even say I felt ashamed ofbringing such a person to see you. And yet I can't think that Ihave acted unwisely in employing Mr. Sharon."

Isabel listened absently. She had something more to say, and shewas considering how she should say it. "May I ask you a boldquestion?" she began.

"Any question you like."

"Have you--" she hesitated and looked embarrassed. "Have you paidMr. Sharon much money?" she resumed, suddenly rallying hercourage. Instead of answering, Moody suggested that it was timeto think of returning to Miss Pink's villa. "Your aunt may begetting anxious about you." he said.

Isabel led the way out of the farmhouse in silence. She revertedto Mr. Sharon and the money, however, as they returned by thepath across the fields.

"I am sure you will not be offended with me," she said gently,"if I own that I am uneasy about the expense. I am allowing youto use your purse as if it was mine--and I have hardly anysavings of my own."

Moody entreated her not to speak of it. "How can I put my moneyto a better use than in serving your interests?" he asked. "Myone object in life is to relieve you of your present anxieties. Ishall be the happiest man living if you only owe a moment'shappiness to my exertions!"

Isabel took his hand, and looked at him with grateful tears inher eyes.

"How good you are to me, Mr. Moody!" she said. "I wish I couldtell you how deeply I feel your kindness."

"You can do it easily," he answered, with a smile. "Call me'Robert' --don't call me 'Mr. Moody.' "

She took his arm with a sudden familiarity that charmed him. "Ifyou had been my brother I should have called you 'Robert,' " shesaid; "and no brother could have been more devoted to me than youare."

He looked eagerly at her bright face turned up to his. "May Inever hope to be something nearer and dearer to you than abrother?" he asked timidly.

She hung her head and said nothing. Moody's memory recalledSharon's coarse reference to her "sweetheart." She had blushedwhen he put the question? What had she done when Moody put _his_question? Her face answered for her--she had turned pale; she waslooking more serious than usual. Ignorant as he was of the waysof women, his instinct told him that this was a bad sign. Surelyher rising color would have confessed it, if time and gratitudetogether were teaching her to love him? He sighed as theinevitable conclusion forced itself on his mind.

"I hope I have not offended you?" he said sadly.

"Oh, no."

"I wish I had not spoken. Pray don't think that I am serving youwith any selfish motive."

"I don't think that, Robert. I never could think it of _you_."

He was not quite satisfied yet. "Even if you were to marry someother man," he went on earnestly, "it would make no difference inwhat I am trying to do for you. No matter what I might suffer, Ishould still go on--for your sake."

"Why do you talk so?" she burst out passionately. "No other manhas such a claim as you to my gratitude and regard. How can youlet such thoughts come to you? I have done nothing in secret. Ihave no friends who are not known to you. Be satisfied with that,Robert--and let us drop the subject."

"Never to take it up again?" he asked, with the infatuatedpertinacity of a man clinging to his last hope.

At other times and under other circumstances, Isabel might haveanswered him sharply. She spoke with perfect gentleness now.

"Not for the present," she said. "I don't know my own heart. Giveme time."

His gratitude caught at those words, as the drowning man is saidto catch at the proverbial straw. He lifted her hand, andsuddenly and fondly pressed his lips on it. She showed noconfusion. Was she sorry for him, poor wretch!--and was that all?

They walked on, arm-in-arm, in silence.

Crossing the last field, they entered again on the high roadleading to the row of villas in which Miss Pink lived. The mindsof both were preoccupied. Neither of them noticed a gentlemanapproaching on horseback, followed by a mounted groom. He wasadvancing slowly, at the walking-pace of his horse, and he onlyobserved the two foot-passengers when he was close to them.

"Miss Isabel!"

She started, looked up, and discovered--Alfred Hardyman.

He was dressed in a perfectly-made travelling suit of lightbrown, with a peaked felt hat of a darker shade of the samecolor, which, in a picturesque sense, greatly improved hispersonal appearance. His pleasure at discovering Isabel gave theanimation to his features which they wanted on ordinaryoccasions. He sat his horse, a superb hunter, easily andgracefully. His light amber-colored gloves fitted him perfectly.His obedient servant, on another magnificent horse, waited behindhim. He looked the impersonation of rank and breeding--of wealthand prosperity. What a contrast, in a woman's eyes, to the shy,pale, melancholy man, in the ill-fitting black clothes, with thewandering, uneasy glances, who stood beneath him, and felt, andshowed that he felt, his inferior position keenly! In spite ofherself, the treacherous blush flew over Isabel's face, inMoody's presence, and with Moody's eyes distrustfully watchingher.

"This is a piece of good fortune that I hardly hoped for," saidHardyman, his cool, quiet, dreary way of speaking quickened asusual, in Isabel's presence. "I only got back from France thismorning, and I called on Lady Lydiard in the hope of seeing you.She was not at home--and you were in the country--and theservants didn't know the address. I could get nothing out ofthem, except that you were on a visit to a relation." He lookedat Moody while he was speaking. "Haven't I seen you before?" hesaid, carelessly. "Yes; at Lady Lydiard's. You're her steward,are you not? How d'ye do?" Moody, with h is eyes on the ground,answered silently by a bow. Hardyman, perfectly indifferentwhether Lady Lydiard's steward spoke or not, turned on his saddleand looked admiringly at Isabel. "I begin to think I am a luckyman at last," he went on with a smile. "I was jogging along to myfarm, and despairing of ever seeing Miss Isabel again--and MissIsabel herself meets me at the roadside! I wonder whether you areas glad to see me as I am to see you? You won't tell me--eh? MayI ask you something else? Are you staying in our neighborhood?"

There was no alternative before Isabel but to answer this lastquestion. Hardyman had met her out walking, and had no doubtdrawn the inevitable inference--although he was too polite to sayso in plain words.

"Yes, sir," she answered, shyly, "I am staying in thisneighborhood."

"And who is your relation?" Hardyman proceeded, in his easy,matter-of-course way. "Lady Lydiard told me, when I had thepleasure of meeting you at her house, that you had an aunt livingin the country. I have a good memory, Miss Isabel, for anythingthat I hear about You! It's your aunt, isn't it? Yes? I knoweverybody about hew. What is your aunt's name?"

Isabel, still resting her hand on Robert's arm, felt it tremble alittle as Hardyman made this last inquiry. If she had beenspeaking to one of her equals she would have known how to disposeof the question without directly answering it. But what could shesay to the magnificent gentleman on the stately horse? He hadonly to send his servant into the village to ask who the younglady from London was staying with, and the answer, in a dozenmouths at least, would direct him to her aunt. She cast oneappealing look at Moody and pronounced the distinguished name ofMiss Pink.

"Miss Pink?" Hardyman repeated. "Surely I know Miss Pink?" (Hehad not the faintest remembrances of her.) "Where did I meet herlast?" (He ran over in his memory the different local festivalsat which strangers had been introduced to him.) "Was it at thearchery meeting? or at the grammar-school when the prizes weregiven? No? It must have been at the flower show, then, surely?"

It _had_ been at the flower show. Isabel had heard it from MissPink fifty times at least, and was obliged to admit it now.

"I am quite ashamed of never having called," Hardyman proceeded."The fact is, I have so much to do. I am a bad one at payingvisits. Are you on your way home? Let me follow you and make myapologies personally to Miss Pink."

Moody looked at Isabel. It was only a momentary glance, but sheperfectly understood it.

"I am afraid, sir, my aunt cannot have the honor of seeing youto-day," she said.

Hardyman was all compliance. He smiled and patted his horse'sneck. "To-morrow, then," he said. "My compliments, and I willcall in the afternoon. Let me see: Miss Pink lives at--?" Hewaited, as if he expected Isabel to assist his treacherous memoryonce more. She hesitated again. Hardyman looked round at hisgroom. The groom could find out the address, even if he did nothappen to know it already. Besides, there was the little row ofhouses visible at the further end of the road. Isabel pointed tothe villas, as a necessary concession to good manners, before thegroom could anticipate her. "My aunt lives there, sir; at thehouse called The Lawn."

"Ah! to be sure!" said Hardyman. "I oughtn't to have wantedreminding; but I have so many things to think of at the farm. AndI am afraid I must be getting old--my memory isn't as good as itwas. I am so glad to have seen you, Miss Isabel. You and youraunt must come and look at my horses. Do you like horses? Are youfond of riding? I have a quiet roan mare that is used to carryingladies; she would be just the thing for you. Did I beg you togive my best compliments to your aunt? Yes? How well you arelooking! our air here agrees with you. I hope I haven't kept youstanding too long? I didn't think of it in the pleasure ofmeeting you. Good-by, Miss Isabel; good-by, till to-morrow!"

He took off his hat to Isabel, nodded to Moody, and pursued hisway to the farm.

Isabel looked at her companion. His eyes were still on theground. Pale, silent, motionless, he waited by her like a dog,until she gave the signal of walking on again towards the house.

"You are not angry with me for speaking to Mr. Hardyman?" sheasked, anxiously.

He lifted his head it the sound of her voice. "Angry with you, mydear! why should I be angry?"

"You seem so changed, Robert, since we met Mr. Hardyman. Icouldn't help speaking to him--could I?"

"Certainly not."

They moved on towards the villa. Isabel was still uneasy. Therewas something in Moody's silent submission to all that she saidand all that she did which pained and humiliated her. "You're notjealous?" she said, smiling timidly.

He tried to speak lightly on his side. "I have no time to bejealous while I have your affairs to look after," he answered.

She pressed his arm tenderly. "Never fear, Robert, that newfriends will make me forget the best and dearest friend who isnow at my side." She paused, and looked up at him with acompassionate fondness that was very pretty to see. "I can keepout of the way to-morrow, when Mr. Hardyman calls," she said. "Itis my aunt he is coming to see--not me."

It was generously meant. But while her mind was only occupiedwith the present time, Moody's mind was looking into the future.He was learning the hard lesson of self-sacrifice already. "Dowhat you think is right," he said quietly; "don't think of me."

They reached the gate of the villa. He held out his hand to saygood-by.

"Won't you come in?" she asked. "Do come in!"

"Not now, my dear. I must get back to London as soon as I can.There is some more work to be done for you, and the sooner I doit the better."

She heard his excuse without heeding it.

"You are not like yourself, Robert," she said. "Why is it? Whatare you thinking of?"

He was thinking of the bright blush that overspread her face whenHardyman first spoke to her; he was thinking of the invitation toher to see the stud-farm, and to ride the roan mare; he wasthinking of the utterly powerless position in which he stoodtowards Isabel and towards the highly-born gentleman who admiredher. But he kept his doubts and fears to himself. "The trainwon't wait for me," he said, and held out his hand once more.

She was not only perplexed; she was really distressed. "Don'ttake leave of me in that cold way!" she pleaded. Her eyes droppedbefore his, and her lips trembled a little. "Give me a kiss,Robert, at parting." She said those bold words softly and sadly,out of the depth of her pity for him. He started; his facebrightened suddenly; his sinking hope rose again. In anothermoment the change came; in another moment he understood her. Ashe touched her cheek with his lips, he turned pale again. "Don'tquite forget me," he said, in low, faltering tones--and left her.

Miss Pink met Isabel in the hall. Refreshed by unbroken repose,the ex-schoolmistress was in the happiest frame of mind for thereception of her niece's news.

Informed that Moody had travelled to South Morden to personallyreport the progress of the inquiries, Miss Pink highly approvedof him as a substitute for Mr. Troy. "Mr. Moody, as a banker'sson, is a gentleman by birth," she remarked; "he hascondescended, in becoming Lady Lydiard's steward. What I saw ofhim, when he came here with you, prepossessed me in his favor. Hehas my confidence, Isabel, as well as yours--he is in everyrespect a superior person to Mr. Troy. Did you meet any friends,my dear, when you were out walking?"

The answer to this question produced a species of transformationin Miss Pink. The rapturous rank-worship of her nation feasted,so to speak, on Hardyman's message. She looked taller and youngerthan usual--she was all smiles and sweetness. "At last, Isabel,you have seen birth and breeding under their right aspect," shesaid. "In the society of Lady Lydiard, you cannot possibly haveformed correct ideas of the English aristocracy. Observe Mr.Hardyman when he does me the honor to call to-morrow--and youwill see the difference."

"Mr. Hardyman is your visitor, aunt--not mine. I was going to askyou to let me remain upstairs in my room."

Miss Pink was unaffectedly shocked. "This is what you learn atLady Lydiard's!" she observed. "No, Isabel, your absence would bea breach of good manners--I cannot possibly permit it. You willbe present to receive our distinguished friend with me. And mindthis!" added Miss Pink, in her most impressive manner, "If Mr.Hardyman should by any chance ask why you have left Lady Lydiard,not one word about those disgraceful circumstances which connectyou with the loss of the banknote! I should sink into the earthif the smallest hint of what has really happened should reach Mr.Hardyman's ears. My child, I stand towards you in the place ofyour lamented mother; I have the right to command your silence onthis horrible subject, and I do imperatively command it."

In these words foolish Miss Pink sowed the seed for the harvestof trouble that was soon to come.