As has been already stated, it was about a year before Mr. Hazeldine's tragical end that Frank Derison had been made the confidant by his friend Winton of a secret which the latter was not justified in revealing to anyone. He had been told that there was a deposit of twelve hundred pounds standing to the credit of Hermia Rivers, in Umpleby's Bank at Dulminster, and the news had given a spur to his lagging affections, and had decided him to propose to Hermy with the least possible delay.

All his life Frank had been used to talk freely to his mother, and as soon as he reached home that evening, he did not fail to tell her what had passed between Winton and himself, as far as it related to Miss Rivers.

"What a dear, noble-hearted girl she is!" he wound up by saying. "I love her to distraction, and have done so for ever so long. Of course, twelve hundred pounds isn't to be despised, but if she hadn't a shilling I should love her just the same. She's the only girl in the world I could ever be happy with."

Mrs. Derison listened to the boy's rhodomontade with a smile which he took to be one of sympathy, but which in reality was one of bitterness. She had heard precisely the same sort of nonsense--in that case addressed to herself--from the lips of Frank's father a quarter of a century before; and at that time she had been simple and inexperienced enough to pin her faith to it. What had it resulted in as far as she was concerned? In Dead-sea fruit--in dust and ashes. And so would it be with any girl who might lend an ear to Frank's vows, and entrust her future to his keeping; for in him Mrs. Derison recognized an exact counterpart of his father; handsome, gay, not without a certain surface cleverness; lazy and good-natured, with a manner that rarely failed to charm, but with a heart that was thoroughly selfish at the core, although the owner of it was totally unconscious of the fact. With such natures self-deception--unconscious self-deception--is one of the primary laws of their being.

"Yes," said Mrs. Derison, with a somewhat dubious air, "I do not doubt that Miss Rivers is a very charming girl, nor that you fancy yourself very deeply in love with her; and certainly, as you say, in our circumstances a fortune of twelve hundred pounds is by no means to be despised. But, on the other hand, it is not always advisable for a very young man--which you still are--to tie himself down for life, unless his future, to some extent at least, is already mapped out for him, and he is in a position to form some idea how far it may be affected by an early and perhaps imprudent marriage. Your future, I am sorry to say, is anything but an assured one; still, it may contain hidden possibilities of which at present you and I know nothing." Then she went on to hint darkly at certain possible contingencies in connection with his position at the Bank. Mr. Avison, senior, was a very old man; there was little likelihood that Mr. Avison, junior, would ever marry; Frank was a relative--though a distant one--and if only he had the sense to play his cards properly, and to wait patiently, who could say what might not come to pass? In any case, it would be well to pause and consider before committing himself seriously with any young woman, however charming she might be.

Mrs. Derison's words had the effect she intended them to have. They threw an effectual chill for the time being over Frank's love aspirations. Hitherto he had had no faith that any special advancement at the Bank would accrue to him more than to others; indeed, it had often seemed to him that he would have stood a better chance of promotion had he not been a relation of his employer. Still, after all, might there not be more in his mother's hints than she was willing to let appear on the surface? He knew that she went occasionally to see old Mr. Avison, and had she not had good grounds for doing so, she would not have said as much as she had said. His brain was of the sanguine, castle-building order, and almost unconsciously his daydreams began to assume an auriferous tinge, such as they had ever lacked before. It would be as well, perhaps, not to be too precipitate in the matter of Hermia. She was a darling girl, and he loved her passionately; still----. Even in his thoughts he got no farther than that.

But there came a day, two or three weeks later, when, not for the first time, Frank and Hermia found themselves on the river together. Frank pulled up stream till all the other boats that were out were left behind; then, in a quiet shallow, he fastened the painter round the root of an old tree, and prepared to enjoy a smoke. It was an afternoon in early winter. The sun was drawing towards the west, and in its softened radiance, Hermia sat like a creature glorified. Never had she seemed so lovely in Frank's eyes as then. For once the fervor of passion overcame him; for once he flung prudence and all care for his worldly advancement to the winds; for once his heart spoke without an afterthought. A couple of minutes sufficed for him to say what he had to say, and then he paused, leaning forward towards her, his eyes glowing as they had never glowed before, his whole being instinct with an emotion which was almost as great a surprise to himself as it was to the girl sitting opposite him: for Hermia, much as she liked Frank, had not thought of him as a possible lover. She was heart-whole and fancy-free, and the revelation came on her with the shock of a great surprise.

There is no need to describe in detail the scene that followed. Frank combated Hermia's objections and scruples one by one, and, in the end, was provisionally accepted. The affair was to be kept a secret from everybody for twelve months, during which time they would hold themselves as being, to a certain extent, engaged to each other. At the end of that time, either of them who might so choose, would be free to break the compact; but should neither of them wish to do so, then the engagement should be formally ratified and made known to those whom it might concern. It was a foolish arrangement to enter into, but excusable on Hermia's part, on the score of her ignorance of the world and its ways, as well as of the possibilities of her own heart. She loved no one else, and it seemed to her that she never should. She thought to be the same always as she was at nineteen. She had known and had liked Frank for years, and would fain have had the relationship between them continue the same in the future as it had been in the past; but if it made Frank happy to love her, and if he was really sincere in wishing her to become his wife, why, in that case, she would try to love him a little in return. Yes, she actually told herself that she would try to love. Foolish girl! As if love comes by trying for! But she was soon to be made wiser, after that sweet old fashion which yet seems such a s............