In the dining-room at Mrs. Cumberland\'s, with its window open to the garden and the sweet flowers, stood Ellen Adair. It was the favourite morning-room. Mrs. Cumberland, down in good time to-day, for it was scarcely eleven o\'clock, had stepped into the garden, and disappeared amidst its remoter parts.

Ellen Adair, dressed in a cool pink muslin, almost as thin as gauze, stood in a reverie. A pleasant one, to judge by the soft blush on her face and the sweet smile that parted her lips. She was twirling the plain gold ring round and round her finger, thinking no doubt of the hour when it had been put on, and the words spoken with it. Bessy Rane had altogether refused to give back the ring she was married with, and Ellen retained the other.

The intimacy with Arthur Bohun, the silent love-making, had continued. Even now, she was listening lest haply his footsteps might be heard; listening with hushed breath and beating heart. Never a day passed but he contrived to call, on some plea or other, at Mrs. Cumberland\'s, morning, afternoon, or evening: and this morning he might be coming, for aught she knew. At the close of the past summer, Mrs. Cumberland had gone to the Isle of Wight for change of air, taking Ellen and her maid Jelly with her. She hired a secluded cottage in the neighbourhood of Niton. Singular to relate, Captain Bohun remembered that he had friends at Niton--an old invalid brother-officer, who was living there in great economy. On and off, during the whole time of Mrs. Cumberland\'s stay--and it lasted five months, for she had gone the beginning of September, and did not return home until the end of February--was Arthur Bohun paying visits to this old friend. Now for a day or two; now for a week or two; once for three weeks together. And still Mrs. Cumberland suspected nothing! It was as if her eyes were withheld. Perhaps they were: there is a destiny in all things, and it must be worked out. It is true that she did not see or suspect half the intimacy. A gentle walk once a-day by the sea was all she took. At other times Ellen rambled at will; sometimes attended by Jelly, alone when Jelly could not be spared. Captain Bohun took every care of her, guarding her more jealously than he would have guarded a sister: and this did a little surprise Mrs. Cumberland.

"We ought to feel very much obliged to Captain Bohun, Ellen," she said on one occasion. "It is not many a young man would sacrifice his time to us. Your father and his, and my husband, the chaplain, were warm friends for a short time in India: it must be his knowledge of this that induces him to be so attentive. Very civil of him!"

Ellen coloured vividly. Eminently truthful, she yet did not dare to say that perhaps that was not Captain Bohun\'s reason for being attentive. How could she hint at Captain Bohun\'s love, clear though it was to her own heart, when he had never spoken a syllable to her about it? It was not possible. So things went on in the same routine: he and she wandering together on the sea-shore: both of them living in a dream of Elysium. In February, when they returned home, the scene was changed, but not the companionship. It was an early spring that year, warm and genial. Many and many an hour were they together in that seductive garden of Mrs. Cumberland\'s, with its miniature rocks, its velvety grass; the birds sang and their own hearts danced for joy.

But Mrs. Cumberland\'s eyes were not to be always closed.

It was not to be expected that so lovely a girl as Ellen Adair should remain long without a declared suitor. Especially when there was a rumour that she would inherit a fortune--though how the latter arose people would have been puzzled to say. A gentleman of position in the neighbourhood; no other than Mr. Graves, son of one of the county members; began to make rather pointed visits at Mrs. Cumberland\'s. That his object was Ellen Adair, and that he would most likely ask her to become his wife, Mrs. Cumberland clearly saw. She wrote to Mr. Adair in Australia, telling him she thought Ellen was about to receive an offer of marriage, in every way eligible. The young man was of high character, good family, and large means, she said: should she, if the proposal came, accept it for Ellen. By a singular omission, which perhaps Mrs. Cumberland was not conscious of, she did not mention Mr. Graves\'s name. But the proposal came sooner than Mrs. Cumberland had bargained for: barely was this letter despatched--about which, with her usual reticence, she said not a word to any one--when Mr. Graves proposed to Ellen and was refused.

It was this that opened Mrs. Cumberland\'s eyes to the nature of the friendship between Ellen and Captain Bohun. She then wrote a second letter to Mr. Adair, saying Ellen had refused Mr. Graves in consequence, as she strongly suspected, of an attachment to Arthur Bohun--son of Major Bohun, whom Mr. Adair once knew so well. That Arthur Bohun would wish to make Ellen his wife, there could be, Mrs. Cumberland thought from observation, no doubt whatever: might he be accepted? In a worldly point of view, Captain Bohun was not so desirable as Mr. Graves, she added--unless indeed he should succeed to his uncle\'s baronetcy, which was not very improbable, the present heir being sickly--but he would have enough to live upon as a gentleman, and he was liked by every one. This second letter was also despatched to Australia by the mail following the one that carried the first. Having thus done her duty, Mrs. Cumberland sat down to wait for Mr. Adair\'s answer, tacitly allowing the intimacy to continue, inasmuch as she did not stop the visits of Arthur Bohun. Neither he nor Ellen suspected what she had done.

And with the summer there had come another suitor to Ellen Adair. At least another was displaying signs that he would like to become one. It was Mr. Seeley, the doctor who had replaced Mr. Alexander. Soon after Mrs. Cumberland\'s return from Niton in February, she had been for a week or two alarmingly ill, and Mr. Seeley was called in as well as her son. He had remained on terms of friendship at her house; and it became evident that he very much admired Miss Adair.

Things were in this state on this summer\'s morning, and Ellen Adair stood near the window twirling the plain gold ting on her finger. Presently she came out of her reverie, unlocked a small letter-case, and began to write in her diary.

"Tuesday.--Mrs. Cumberland talks of going away again. She seems to me to grow thinner and weaker. Arthur says the same. He thinks----"

A knock at the front-door, and Mr. Seeley was shown in. He paid a professional visit to Mrs. Cumberland at least every other morning. Not as a professional man, he told her; but as a friend, that he might see how she went on.

Miss Adair shook hands with him, her manner cold. He saw it not; and his fingers parted lingeringly from hers.

"Mrs. Cumberland is in the garden, if you will go to her," said Ellen, affecting to be quite occupied with her writing-case. "I think she wants to see you; she is not at all well. You will find her in the grotto, or somewhere about."

To this Mr. Seeley answered nothing, except that he was in no hurry, and would look after Mrs. Cumberland by-and-by. He was a dark man of about two-and-thirty, with a plain, honest face; straightforward in disposition and manner, timid only when with Ellen Adair. He took a step or two nearer Ellen, and began to address her in low tones, pulling one of his gloves about nervously.

"I have been wishing for an opportunity to speak to you, Miss Adair. There is a question that I--that I--should like to put to you. One I have very much at heart."

It was coming. In spite of Ellen Adair\'s studied coldness, by which she had meant him to learn that he must not speak, she saw that it was coming. In the pause he made, as if he would wait for her permission to go on, she felt miserably uncomfortable. Her nature was essentially generous and sensitive; to have to refuse Mr. Seeley, or any one else, made her feel as humiliated as though she had committed a crime. And she could have esteemed the man apart from this.

They were thus standing: Mr. Seeley looking awkward and nervous, Ellen turning red and white: when Arthur Bohun walked in. Mr. Seeley, effectually interrupted for the time, muttered a good-morning to Captain Bohun and went into the garden.

"What was Seeley saying, Ellen?"

"Nothing," she rather faintly answered.

"Nothing!"

Ellen glanced up at him. His face wore the haughty Bohun look; his mouth betrayed scorn enough for ten proud Bohuns put together. She did not............