So low--so low--yes I am low indeed
But he thy lover tho' of high estate
Will fall to this--I tell thee dainty dame
The devil even now is at his ear
Breathing temptations in most subtle guise
Which soon will lose him all he holds most dear.

The autumn was now nearly over, and it was that bleak, chill season just before winter when the trees, denuded of foliage, seemed to wait for the snow to cover the bare branches which shivered complainingly in the chill wind. Under foot the ground was dark and sodden, overhead the sky dull and lowering, while piercingly cold blasts blew across the lonely marshes and whistled shrilly over the waste moorland.

Dreary and desolate as it had looked in summer time, Garsworth Grange appeared even more dreary and desolate under the sombre-coloured sky. The damp had discoloured the white marble of the statues, which seemed lost amid the surrounding desert of bare trees and dead leaves. It was everlastingly raining, and Una, looking out of the antique windows at the gloomy landscape seen through the driving mists of rain, felt dull and depressed. All day long the winds whistled through the dismal rooms, and the rain ceaselessly dripped from the eaves, so it was hardly to be wondered that both Una and Miss Cassy felt anything but cheerful.

It was now about two months since Reginald had gone up to town, and Una had received frequent letters from him about the way in which everything was being arranged by the lawyers. Of late these letters had become feverish in tone, as if the writer were trying to invest his correspondence with a kind of fictitious gaiety he was far from feeling, and this sudden change of style gave her serious uneasiness. She knew how sensitive Reginald was, and how deeply he had felt the discovery of his real birth, so dreaded lest to banish the spectres which haunted him he should plunge into dissipation. In one of his letters also he had mentioned that he had met Beaumont in town, and as Una learned from the vicar that Dick Pemberton had gone to Folkestone to see his uncle, she felt doubtful as to the wisdom of an inexperienced youth like Reginald being left alone in London with a reckless, man of the world like Beaumont.

She had mistrusted Beaumont when she first met him, but by his fascinating manner he had succeeded in overcoming her repugnance, but now that he was away the influence of his strong personality died out, and she began to dread his power over her lover's honourable, guileless nature.

"I wish Reginald would come back at once," she said to Miss Cassy, "and then we could be married, and he would have some one to look after him."

"I'm sure I'll be glad when you are married," whimpered Miss Cassy, whose spirits the lonely life she was leading sadly depressed. "I'll go melancholy mad if I stay here--I know I shall. I'm sure that isn't odd, is it? I feel like what's-her-name in the Moated Grange, you know--the weary, weary dead thing I mean, and the gloomy flats--not half so nice as the flat we had in town. If we could only go to it again--I feel so shivery."

And so Miss Cassy rambled on in a disconnected fashion, one thought suggesting another, while Una sat staring out of the window, with Reginald's last letter in her hand, wondering what was best to be done.

"I don't trust Mr. Beaumont," she said at length. "He is not a good companion for Reginald."

"Oh, my dear," said Miss Cassy, picking up the tea-cosy, which she kept by her to put on her head when she felt cold, "such a charming man--quite a Lord what's-his-name in his manners."

"His manners are all right, I've no doubt," returned Una drily, "but what about his morals?"

Miss Cassy gave a little girlish scream and extinguished herself with the tea-cosy.

"What dreadful things you do say, Una," she observed in a shocked tone. "So very odd--quite like Zola, so very French."

"My dear aunty, I know you are one of those people who think that unmarried girls should be absolutely ignorant of such things. I don't agree with you. There's no need of them to parade their knowledge of evil, but they cannot help hearing about it, however carefully brought up. I know London is not a good place for a young man with plenty of money, especially when he is so inexperienced as Reginald--besides, Mr. Beaumont is a man of the world, whom I really believe lives by his wits--and if it be a case of his wits against Reginald's, my dear aunt, I'm afraid poor Reginald will come off worst."

"What's to be done then?" said Miss Cassy blankly. "Do you think if I sent dear Reginald some tracts----"

"I don't think that would be much use," interrupted Una laughing. "No, I'll go over to Garsworth to see the vicar--he will know what is best to be done. I will show him Reginald's letter, and I'm sure he will agree with me that it will be wise to withdraw him from Mr. Beaumont's influence."

"Why doesn't Mr. Bolby look after him?" said Miss Cassy indignantly.

"I daresay Mr. Bolby has got his own business to look after," replied Una with a faint sigh; "besides, he only regards Reginald from a monetary point of view, nothing more--will you come to the vicarage with me, aunt?"

"Oh yes, dear," cried Miss Cassy with great alacrity, "the walk will do me good, and I'm so dull--I'll talk to dear Mrs. Larcher, you know, she's so odd, but still she's better than one's own company, isn't she, dear?--let us get ready at once--the rain has gone off I see."

"Then let us follow the example of the rain," said Una with a laugh, and the two ladies went away to prepare themselves for their walk.

When they sallied forth with heavy cloaks and thick boots, they found that for once the sun had shown his face and was looking through the watery clouds in a somewhat feeble fashion. The ground under foot was wet and spongy, still it was better than being immured in the dreary Grange, and as they walked rapidly along their spirits rose in spite of the depressing influence of the weather.

When they arrived at the bridge after a sharp walk they saw a man leaning over the parapet looking at the cold grey water swirling below.

"Dear me, Una, how very odd," exclaimed Miss Cassy, "there is Dr. Nestley."

"Dr. Nestley," echoed Una rather startled. "I thought he had gone away last week?"

"He was going, but for some reason did not," answered Miss Cassy, who by some mysterious means heard all the gossip of the village. "I hear he is still staying at Kossiter's--drinking, my dear--oh dreadful--so very odd."

By this time they were directly in the centre of the bridge, and hearing footsteps Nestley turned round, showing a wan haggard face with dull bleared eyes filled with mute misery. So ill and desolate did the young man look that Una's heart smote her as she thought the change was brought about through her refusal to marry him, and though she despised him for his weakness of character in thus being influenced, yet she still felt pity for the helplessness of the poor fellow. Nestley flushed as he recognized the two ladies, then raised his hat and without saying a word turned once more to look at the river. Una felt uneasy as he did so, for a sudden doubt arose in her heart as to whether he did not intend to put an end to his life, so taking a sudden resolution she whispered to Miss Cassy to walk on by herself to the vicarage.

"I will join you soon," she said in a low voice, "but first I want to speak to Dr. Nestley."

"............