CHAPTER II.
MARGARET CARNE.
Ronald Mervyn was, perhaps, the most popular man in his regiment. Theywere proud of him as one of the most daring steeplechase riders in theservice, and as a man who had greatly distinguished himself by a deed ofdesperate valour in India. He was far and away the best cricketer in thecorps; he could sing a capital song, and was an excellent musician andthe most pleasant of companions. He was always ready to do his friends aservice, and many a newly-joined subaltern who got into a scrape hadbeen helped out by Ronald Mervyn's purse. And yet at times, as eventhose who most liked and admired him could not but admit, Ronald Mervynwas a queer fellow. His fits were few and far between, but when theyoccurred he was altogether unlike himself. While they lasted, he wouldscarce exchange a word with a soul, but shut himself in his room, or, assoon as parade was over, mounted his horse and rode off, not to returnprobably until late at night.
Mervyn's moods were the subject of many a quiet joke among the youngofficers of the regiment. Some declared that he must have committed amurder somewhere, and was occasionally troubled in his conscience; whilesome insisted that Mervyn's strange behaviour was only assumed in orderthat he might be the more appreciated at other times. Among the two orthree officers of the regiment who came from that part of the country,and knew something of the family history of the Mervyns, it waswhispered that he had inherited some slight share of the curse of theCarnes. Not that he was mad in the slightest degree--no one would thinkof saying that of Ronald Mervyn--but he had certainly queer moods.Perhaps the knowledge that there was a taint in his blood affected him,and in course of time he began to brood over it.
When this mood was on him, soon after joining the regiment, he himselfhad spoken to the doctor about it.
"Do you know, doctor, I am a horrible sufferer from liver complaint?"
"You don't look it, Mervyn," the surgeon replied; "your skin is clear,and your eye is bright. You are always taking exercise, your muscles areas hard as nails. I cannot believe that there is much the matter withyou."
"I assure you, doctor, that at times for two or three days I am fit fornothing. I get into such a state that I am not fit to exchange a wordwith a human being, and could quarrel with my best friend if he spoke tome. I have tried all sorts of medicines, but nothing seems to cure me. Isuppose it's liver; I don't know what else it can be. I have spokenabout it to the Major, and asked him if at any time he sees me lookgrumpy, to say a word to the mess, and ask them to leave me to myself;but I do wish you could give me something."
The doctor had recommended courses of various foreign waters, and hadgiven him instructions to bathe his head when he felt it coming on; butnothing had availed. Once a year, or sometimes oftener, Ronald retiredfor two or three days, and then emerged as well and cheerful as before.
Once, when the attack had been particularly severe, he had againconsulted the doctor, this time telling him the history of his family onhis mother's side, and asking him frankly whether he thought theseperiodical attacks had any connection with the family taint. The doctor,who had already heard the story in confidence from one of the two menwho knew it, replied:
"Well, Mervyn, I suppose that there's some sort of distant connectionbetween the two things, but I do not think you are likely to beseriously affected. I think you can set your mind at ease on that score.A man of so vigorous a frame as you are, and leading so active andhealthy a life, is certainly not a likely subject for insanity. Youshould dismiss the matter altogether from your mind, old fellow. Manymen with a more than usual amount of animal spirits suffer at times fromfits of depression. In your case, perhaps due, to some extent, to yourfamily history, these fits of depression are more severe than usual.Probably the very circumstance that you know this history has somethingto do with it, for when the depression--which is, as I have said, notuncommon in the case of men with high spirits, and is, in fact, a sortof reaction--comes over you, no doubt the thought of the taint in theblood occurs to you, preys upon your mind, and deeply intensifies yourdepression."
"That is so, doctor. When I am in that state my one thought is that I amgoing mad, and I sometimes feel then as if it would be best to blow outmy brains and have done with it."
"Don't let such a fancy enter your head, Mervyn," the doctor said,earnestly. "I can assure you that I think you have no chance whatever ofbecoming insane. The fits of depression are of course troublesome andannoying, but they are few and far apart, and at all other times you areperfectly well and healthy. You should, therefore, regard it as I do--asa sort of reaction, very common among men of your sanguine temperament,and due in a very slight degree to the malady formerly existent in yourfamily. I have watched you closely since you came to the regiment, and,believe me, that I do not say it solely to reassure you when I affirmthat it is my full belief and conviction that you are as sane as othermen, and it is likely that as you get on in life these fits ofdepression will altogether disappear. You see both your mother and unclewere perfectly free from any suspicion of a taint, and it is more thanprobable that it has altogether died out. At any rate the chances areslight indeed of its reappearing in your case."
"Thank you, doctor; you can imagine what a relief your words are to me.I don't worry about it at other times, and indeed feel so thoroughlywell, that I could laugh at the idea were it mooted; but during thesemoods of mine it has tried me horribly. If you don't mind, I will getyou to write your opinion down, so that next time the fit seizes me Ican read it over, and assure myself that my apprehensions areunfounded."
Certainly no one would associate the idea of insanity with RonaldMervyn, as upon the day before the ball at his mother's house he sat onthe edge of the ante-room table, and laughed and talked with a group offive young officers gathered round him.
"Mind, you fellows must catch the seven o'clock train, or else you willbe too late. There will be eight miles to drive; I will have a trapthere to meet you, and you won't be there long before the others beginto arrive. We are not fashionable in our part of the county. We shallhave enough partners for you to begin to dance by half-past nine, and Ican promise you as pretty partners as you can find in any ball-room inEngland. When you have been quartered here a bit longer you will beready to admit the truth of the general opinion, that, in point ofpretty women, Devonshire can hold its own against any county inEngland. No, there is no fear whatever of your coming in too greatstrength. Of course, in Plymouth here, one can overdo the thing, butwhen one gets beyond the beat of the garrison, men are at a premium. Isaw my mother's list; if it had not been for the regiment the femaleelement would have predominated terribly. The army and navy, India andthe colonies, to say nothing of all-devouring London, are the scourgesof the country; the younger sons take wings to themselves and fly, andthe spinsters are left lamenting."
"I think there is more push and go among younger sons than there is inthe elders," one of the young officers said.
"They have not got the same responsibilities," Ronald laughed. "It iseasy to see you are a younger son, Charley; there's a jaunty air aboutyour forage cap and a swagger in your walk, that would tell anyobservant person that you are free from all responsibilities, and could,as the Latin grammar says, sing before a robber."
There was a general laugh, for Charley Mansfield was notoriously in ageneral state of impecuniosity. He, himself, joined merrily in thelaugh.
"I can certainly say," he replied, "'He who steals my purse stealstrash;' but I don't think he would get even that without a tussle.Still, what I said is true, I think. I know my elder brother is afearfully stately personage, who, on the strength of two years'difference of age, and his heirship, takes upon himself periodically toinflict ponderous words of wisdom upon me. I think a lot of them arelike that; but after all, as I tell him, it's the younger sons who havemade England what it is. We won her battles and furnished her colonies,and have done pretty nearly everything that has been done; while theelder sons have only turned into respectable landowners and prosymagistrates."
"Very
well, Charley, the sentiments do you honour," another laughed;"but there, the assembly is sounding. Waiter, bring me a glass ofsherry; your sentiments have so impressed me, Charley, that I intend todrink solemnly to the success of second sons."
"You are not on duty, are you, Mervyn?"
"No, I am starting in half an hour to get home. I shall be wanted to aidin the final preparations. Well, I shall see you all to morrow night.Don't forget the seven o'clock train. I expect we shall keep it up tillbetween three and four. Then you can smoke a cigar, and at five thecarriages will be ready to take you to the station to catch the firsttrain back, and you will be here in time for a tub and a change beforeearly parade."
The ball at the Mervyns' was a brilliant one. The house was large, andas Mr. Mervyn had died four years before, and Ronald had since that timebeen absent on foreign service, it was a long time since anentertainment on a large scale had been given there to the county. Alittle to the disappointment of many of the young ladies in theneighbourhood, the military and naval officers did not come in uniform.There were two or three girls staying in the house, and one of them inthe course of the evening, when she was dancing with Ronald, said:
"We all consider you have taken us in, Captain Mervyn. We made sure thatyou would all be in uniform. Of course those who live near Plymouth areaccustomed to it, but in these parts the red coats are rather a novelty,and we feel we have been defrauded."
"We never go to balls, Miss Blackmoor, in uniform, except when they areregular naval or military balls, either given by our own regiment orsome of the regiments in garrison, or by the navy. That is generally therule though perhaps in some regiments it is not so strictly adhered toas with us."
"Then I consider that it is a fraud upon the public, Captain Mervyn.Gentlemen's dress is so dingy and monotonous that I consider itdistinctly the duty of soldiers to give us a little light and colourwhen they get the chance."
"Very well, Miss Blackmoor, I will bear it in mind; and next time mymother gives a ball, the regiment, if it is within reach, shall come inuniform. By the way, do you know who is the man my cousin is dancingwith? There are lots of faces I don't know here; being seven or eightyears away makes a difference in a quiet country place."
"That is Mr. Gulston; he is first-lieutenant of the flagship atPlymouth. I know it because he was introduced to me early in theevening, and we danced together, and a capital dancer he is, too."
"He is an uncommonly good-looking fellow," Ronald said.
Margaret Carne seemed to think so, too, as she danced with him two orthree times in the course of the evening, and went down to supper on hisarm.
Ronald having, as the son of the house, to divide his attentions as muchas possible, did not dance with his cousin. Lieutenant Gulston had beenaccompanied by the third-lieutenant, and by the doctor, who never missedan opportunity of going to a ball because, as he said, it gave him anopportunity of studying character.
"You see," he would argue, "on board a ship one gets only the one sideof human nature. Sailors may differ a bit one from another, but they canall be divided into two or three classes--the steady honest fellow whotries to do his work well; the reckless fellow who is ready to do hiswork, but is up to every sort of mischief and devilment; and the lazy,loafing fellow who neglects his duty whenever he possibly can, and isalways shamming sick in order to get off it. Some day or other I shallsettle on shore and practise there, and I want to learn something aboutthe people I shall have to deal with; besides, there's nothing moreamusing than looking on at a ball when you have no idea of dancingyourself. It's astonishing what a lot of human nature you see if you dobut keep your wits about you."
In the course of the evening he came up to the first-lieutenant.
"Who is that man you have just been talking to, Gulston? I have beenwatching him for some time. He has not been dancing, but has beenstanding in corners looking on."
"He is Mr. Carne, doctor; a cousin, or rather a nephew, of our hostess."
"Is he the brother of that pretty girl you have been dancing with?"
The lieutenant nodded.
"Then I am sorry for her," the surgeon said, bluntly.
"Sorry! What for?"
The surgeon answered by another question.
"Do you know anything about the family, Gulston?"
"I have heard something about them. Why?"
"Never mind now," the surgeon said. "I will tell you in the morning;it's hardly a question to discuss here," and he turned away before thelieutenant could ask further.
It was four o'clock before the dancing ceased and the last carriagerolled away. Then the military and naval men, and two or three visitorsfrom Plymouth, gathered in the library, and smoked and talked for anhour, and were then conveyed to the station to catch the early train.The next day, as they were walking up and down the quarter-deck, thefirst-lieutenant said: "By the way, doctor, what was it you were goingto say last night about the Carnes? You said you were sorry for MissCarne, and asked me if I knew anything about the history of the family."
"Yes, that was it, Gulston; it wasn't the sort of thing to talk aboutthere, especially as I understand the Mervyns are connections of theCarnes. The question I was going to ask you was this: You know theirfamily history; is there any insanity in it?"
The lieutenant stopped suddenly in his walk with an exclamation ofsurprise and pain.
"What do you mean, Mackenzie? Why do you ask such a question?"
"You have not answered mine. Is there insanity in the blood?"
"There has been," the lieutenant said, reluctantly.
"I felt sure of it. I think you have heard me say my father made aspecial study of madness; and when I was studying for my profession Ihave often accompanied him to lunatic asylums, and I devoted a greatdeal of time to the subject, intending to make it my special branchalso. Then the rambling fit seized me and I entered the service; but Ihave never missed following the subject up whenever I have had anopportunity. I have therefore visited asylums for lunatics whenever suchexisted, at every port which we have put into since I have been in theservice.
"When my eye first fell upon Mr. Carne he was standing behind severalother people, watching the dancing, and the expression of his facestruck me as soon as my eye fell upon him. I watched him closely allthrough the evening. He did not dance, and rarely spoke to any one,unless addressed. I watched his face and his hands--hands are, I cantell you, almost as expressive as faces--and I have not the smallesthesitation in saying that the man is mad. It is possible, but notprobable, that at ordinary times he may show no signs of it; but attimes, and last night was one of those times, the man is mad; nay, more,I should be inclined to think that his madness is of a dangerous type.
"Now that you tell me it is hereditary, I am so far confirmed in myopinion that I should not hesitate, if called upon to do so, to sign acertificate to the effect that, in my opinion, he was so far insane asto need the most careful watching, if not absolute confinement."
The colour had faded from the lieutenant's face as the doctor spoke.
"I am awfully sorry," he said, in a low tone, "and I trust to God,doctor, that you are mistaken. I cannot but think that you are. I wasintroduced to him by his sister, and he was most civil and polite,indeed more than civil, for he asked me if I was fond of shooting, andwhen I said that I was extremely so, he invited me over to his place. Hesaid he did not shoot himself, but that next week his cousin Mervyn andone or two others were coming to him to have two or three days' pheasantshooting, and he would be glad if I would join the party; and, as youmay suppose, I gladly accepted the invitation."
"Well," the doctor said, drily, "so far as he is concerned, there is nodanger in your doing so, if, as you say, he doesn't shoot. If he did, Ishould advise you to stay away; and in any case, if you will take theadvice which I offer, you won't go. You will send an excuse."
The lieutenant made no answer for a minute or two, but paced the room insilence.
"I won't pretend to misunderstand you, Mackenzie.
You mean there's nodanger with him, but you think there may be from her. That's what youmean, isn't it?"
The doctor nodded.
"I saw you were taken with her, Gulston; that is why I have spoken toyou about her brother."
"You don't think--confound it, man--you can't think," the lieutenantsaid, angrily, "that there is anything the matter with her?"
"No, I don't think so," the doctor said, gravely. "No, I should saycertainly not; but you know in these cases where it is in the blood itsometimes lies dormant for a generation and then breaks out again. Iasked somebody casually last night about their father, and he said thathe was a capital fellow and most popular in the country; so if it is inthe blood it passed over him, and is showing itself again in the son. Itmay pass over the daughter and reappear in her children. You never know,you see. Do you mind telling me what you know about the family?"
"Not now; not at present. I will at some other time. You have given me ashock, and I must think it over."
The doctor nodded, and commenced to talk about other matters. A minuteor two later the lieutenant made some excuse, and turned into the cabin.Dr. Mackenzie shook his head.
"The lad is hard hit," he said, "and I am sorry for him. I hope mywarning comes in time; it will do if he isn't a fool, but all young menare fools where women are concerned. I will say for him that he has moresense than most, but I would give a good deal if this had not happened."
Lieutenant Gulston was, indeed, hard hit; he had been much struck withthe momentary glance he had obtained of Margaret Carne as he stood onthe steps of the "Carne Arms," and the effect had been greatlyheightened on the previous day. Lieutenant Gulston had, since the dayswhen he was a middy, indulged in many a flirtation, but he had neverbefore felt serious. He had often laughed at the impressibility of someof his comrades, and had scoffed at the idea of love at first sight,but now that he began to think matters seriously over, the pain thedoctor's remarks had given him opened his eyes to the fact that it was agood deal more than a passing fancy.
Thinking it over in every light, he acknowledged the prudent coursewould be to send some excuse to her brother, with an expression ofregret that he found that a matter of duty would prevent his comingover, as he had promised, for the shooting. Then he told himself thatafter all the doctor might be mistaken, and that it would be only rightthat he should judge for himself. If there was anything in it, of coursehe should go no more to The Hold, and no harm would be done. Margaretwas certainly very charming; she was more than charming, she was themost lovable woman he had ever met. Still, of course, if there was anychance of her inheriting this dreadful thing, he would see her no more.After all, no more harm could be done in a couple of days than had beendone already, and he was not such a fool but that he could draw back intime. And so after changing his mind half-a-dozen times, he resolved togo over for the shooting.
"Ruth, I want to speak to you seriously," Margaret Carne said to hermaid two days after the ball. Ruth Powlett was the miller's daughter,and the village gossips had been greatly surprised when, a year before,they heard that she was going up to The Hold to be Miss Carne's ownmaid; for although the old mill was a small one, and did no more than alocal business, Hiram was accounted to have laid by a snug penny, and asRuth was his only child, she was generally regarded as the richestheiress in Carnesford. That Hiram should then let her go out intoservice, even as maid to Miss Carne at The Hold, struck every one withsurprise.
It was generally assumed that the step had been taken because HiramPowlett wanted peace in the house. He had, after the death of his firstwife, Ruth's mother, married again, and the general verdict was that hehad made a mistake. In the first place, Hiram was a staunch Churchman,and one of the churchwardens at Carnesford; but his wife, who was aDareport woman--and that alone was in the opinion of Carnesford greatlyagainst her--was a Dissenter, and attended the little chapel atDareport, and entertained the strongest views as to the prospects andchances of her neighbours in a future state; and in the second place,perhaps in consequence of their religious opinions, she was generally onbad terms with all her neighbours.
But when Hiram married her she had a good figure, the lines of her facehad not hardened as they afterwards did, and he had persuaded himselfthat she would make an excellent mother for Ruth. Indeed, she had notbeen intentionally unkind, and although she had brought her up strictly,she believed that she had thoroughly done her duty; lamenting only thather efforts had been thwarted by the obstinacy and perverseness of herhusband in insisting that the little maid should trot to church by hisside, instead of going with her to the chapel at Dareport.
Ruth had grown up a quiet and somewhat serious girl; she had blossomedout into prettiness in the old mill, and folks in the village weredivided as to whether she or Lucy Carey, the smith's daughter, was theprettiest girl in Carnesford. Not that there was any other matter incomparison between them, for Lucy was somewhat gay and flirty, and had adozen avowed admirers; while Ruth had from her childhood made no secretof her preference for George Forester, the son of the little farmerwhose land came down to the Dare just where Hiram Powlett's mill stood.
He was some five years older than she was, and had fished her out of themill-stream when she fell into it, when she was eight years old. Fromthat time he had been her hero. She had been content to follow him aboutlike a dog, to sit by his side for hours while he fished in the deeppool above the mill, under the shadow of the trees, quite content withan occasional word or notice. She took his part heartily when herstepmother denounced him as the idlest and most impertinent boy in theparish; and when, soon after she was fifteen, he one day mentioned that,as a matter of course, she would some day be his wife, she accepted itas a thing of which she had never entertained any doubt whatever.
But Hiram now took the alarm, and one day told her that she was to giveup consorting with young Forester.
"You are no longer a child, Ruth, and if you go on meeting youngForester down at the pool, people will be beginning to talk. Of course Iknow that you are a good girl, and would never for a moment think oftaking up with George Forester. Every one knows what sort of youngfellow he is; he never does a day's work on the farm, and he is in andout of the 'Carne Arms' at all hours. He associates with the worst lotin the village, and it was only the other day that when the parson triedto speak to him seriously, he answered him in a way that was enough tomake one's hair stand on end."
Ruth obeyed her father, and was no more seen about with George Forester;but she believed no tale to his disadvantage, and when at times she metwith him accidentally, she told him frankly enough that though herfather didn't like her going about with him, she loved him and meant tolove him always, whatever they might say. Upon all other points herfather's will was law to her, but upon this she was firm; and two yearsafterwards, when some words young Forester had spoken at a public-houseabout his daughter came to his ears, Hiram renewed the subject to her,she answered staunchly that unless he gave his consent she would notmarry George Forester, but that nothing would make her give him up or goback from her word.
For once Hiram Powlett and his wife were thoroughly in accord. Theformer seldom spoke upon the subject, but the latter was not soreticent, and every misdeed of young Forester was severely commentedupon by her in Ruth's hearing. Ruth seldom answered, but her father sawthat she suffered, and more than once remonstrated with his wife on whathe called her cruelty, but found that as usual Hesba was not to beturned from her course.
"No, Hiram Powlett," she said, shutting her lips tightly together; "Imust do my duty whether it pleases you or not, and it is my duty to seethat Ruth does not throw away her happiness in this world and the nextby her headstrong conduct. She does not belong to the fold, but in otherrespects I will do her credit to say she is a good girl and does herduty as well as can be expected, considering the dulness of the lightshe has within her; but if she were to marry this reprobate she would belost body and soul; and whatever you may think of the matter, HiramPowlett, I will not refrain from trying to
open her eyes."
"I am quite as determined as you are, Hesba, that the child shall notmarry this young rascal, but I don't think it does any good to be alwaysnagging at her. Women are queer creatures; the more you want them to goone way the more they will go the other."
But though Hiram Powlett did not say much, he worried greatly. Ruth hadalways been quiet, but she was quieter than ever now, and her cheeksgradually lost their roses, and she looked pale and thin. At last Hiramdetermined that if he could not obtain peace for her at home he wouldelsewhere, and hearing that Miss Carne's maid was going to be married hedecided to try to get Ruth the place. She would be free from Hesba'stongue there, and would have other things to think about besides herlover, and would moreover have but few opportunities of seeing him. Hewas shy of approaching the subject to her, and was surprised and pleasedto find that when he did, instead of opposing it as he had expected, shealmost eagerly embraced the proposal.
In fact, Ruth's pale cheeks and changed appearance were not due, as herfather supposed, to unhappiness at her stepmother's talk against GeorgeForester; but because in spite of herself she began to feel that heraccusations were not without foundation. Little by little she learnt,from chance words dropped by others, that the light in which her fatherheld George Forester was that generally entertained in the village. Sheknew that he often quarrelled with his father, and that after one ofthese altercations he had gone off to Plymouth and enlisted, only to bebought out a few days afterwards.
She knew that he drank, and had taken part in several serious frays thathad arisen at the little beershop in the village; and hard as she foughtagainst the conviction, it was steadily making its way, that her loverwas wholly unworthy of her. And yet, in spite of his faults, she lovedhim. Whatever he was with others, he was gentle and pleasant with her,and she felt that were she to give him up his last chance would be gone.So she was glad to get away from the village for a time, and to thesurprise of her father, and the furious anger of George Forester, sheapplied for and obtained the post of Margaret Carne's maid.
She had few opportunities of seeing George Forester now; but what sheheard when she went down to the village on Sundays was not encouraging.He drank harder than before, and spent much of his time down atDareport, and, as some said, was connected with a rough lot there whowere fonder of poaching than of fishing.
Margaret Carne was aware of what she considered Ruth's infatuation. Shekept herself well informed of the affairs of the village--the greaterportion of which belonged to her and her brother--and she learnt fromthe clergyman, whose right hand she was in the choir and schools, a gooddeal of the village gossip. She had never spoken to Ruth on the subjectduring the nine months she had been with her, but now she felt she wasbound to do so.
"What is it, Miss Margaret?" Ruth said, quietly, in answer to herremark.
"I don't want to vex you, and you will say it is no business of mine,but I think it is, for you know I like you very much, besides, yourbelonging to Carnesford. Of course I have heard--every one has heard,you know--about your engagement to young Forester. Now a very painfulthing has happened. On the night of the dance our gamekeepers cameacross a party of poachers in the woods, as of course you have heard,and had a fight with them, and one of the keepers is so badly hurt thatthey don't think he will live. He has sworn that the man who stabbed himwas George Forester, and my brother, as a magistrate, has just signed awarrant for his arrest.
"Now, Ruth, surely this man is not worthy of you. He bears, I hear, onall sides a very bad character, and I think you will be more thanrisking your happiness with such a man; I think for your own sake itwould be better to give him up. My brother is very incensed against him;he has been out with the other keepers to the place where this frayoccurred and he says it was a most cowardly business, for the poacherswere eight to three, and he seems to have no doubt whatever thatForester was one of the party, and that they will be able to prove it. Ido think, Ruth, you ought to give him up altogether. I am not talking toyou as a mistress, you know, but as a friend."
"I think you are right, Miss Margaret," the girl said, in a low voice."I have been thinking it over in every way. At first I didn't think whatthey said was true, and then I thought that perhaps I might be able tokeep him right, and that if I were to give him up there would be nochance for him. I have tried very hard to see what was my duty, but Ithink now that I see it, and that I must break off with him. But oh! itis so hard," she added, with a quiver in her voice, "for though I knowthat I oughtn't to love him, I can't help it."
"I can quite understand that, Ruth," Margaret Carne agreed. "I know if Iloved any one I should not give him up merely because everybody spokeill of him. But, you see, it is different now. It is not merely asuspicion, it is almost absolute proof; and besides, you must know thathe spends most of his time in the public-house, and that he never wouldmake you a good husband."
"I have known that a long time," Ruth said, quietly; "but I have hopedalways that he might change if I married him. I am afraid I can't hopeany longer, and I have been thinking for some time that I should have togive him up. I will tell him so now, if I have an opportunity."
"I don't suppose you will, for my brother says he has not been homesince the affair in the wood. If he has, he went away again at once. Iexpect he has made either for Plymouth or London, for he must know thatthe police would be after him for his share in this business. I am verysorry for it, Ruth, but I do think you will be happier when you haveonce made up your mind to break with him. No good could possibly comeof your sacrificing yourself."
Ruth said no more on the subject, but went about her work as quietly andorderly as usual, and Margaret Carne was surprised to see how bravelyshe held up, for she knew that she must be suffering greatly.