Then I think that he saw something more in my face than even the allusion to his death seemed to warrant. He went on with grave anxiety: 'I fear you are not well. Is your hand painful?'

Ah, my hand—how thankful I was for the suggestion! I slipped it under my cloak, dragged away the bandage, which again opened the wound.

'Bleeding afresh! You must really have it seen to, Mary.'

'O no; it is really a very trifling affair.' In my misery and despair, I almost laughed at the idea of being able to feel any physical pain.

He assisted me to tighten the bandage again. But I presently knew that it would not do to have his hands touching me and his face close to mine in this way; so, with a little brusque remark about his want of skill (ah Philip, had you known what it cost me!), I declared that my hand required no more fussing over. I had the parting to go through, and needed all my nerve. First, I must make sure of his not coming down to the cottage for two or three days.

'You said you expect to be very much engaged; and therefore I suppose we shall not see you again until the end of the week—Friday or Saturday, perhaps?'

This was Tuesday, and I wanted to make sure of two clear days.

'I will contrive to run down before that, if you wish it, Mary.'

'No; I too have much to do. Do not come before Friday.'

'Very well. You will tell me then which day you have decided upon, since you will not say now.'

I had waived the decision as to which day the wedding was to take place; and I did so again, merely repeating 'Friday.'

'All right; take care of yourself; and be sure to have the hand seen to.' He was stooping down to give me the customary kiss before crossing the stile; but I took his two hands in mine, and looked up into his face, I think as calmly and steadily as I had prayed for strength to do.

'God bless you, Philip.' Then I put my arms about his neck, lifted up my face to his, and kissed him. 'Good-bye, dear Philip.'

I saw an expression of surprise, a slight doubt and hesitation in his eyes. He had not found me so demonstrative as this before, and was for the moment puzzled to account for it. But I contrived to get up a smile, which I think satisfied him. Then with a last wrench, I turned away, hearing as though from another world his answering 'Good-bye' as he vaulted the stile.

After that, the rest would be easy. I allowed myself one hour in the woods—not for the indulgence of regret—I knew too well the danger of that—but for recovery, and got back to the cottage in time for our early dinner. Moreover, I forced myself to eat, knowing that I should require all the strength I could get; and delighted dear kind old Mrs Tipper's heart by asking for a glass of wine.

It was a terrible ordeal, sitting there under their tender watchful eyes; but I got through it tolerably I think. Afterwards, I told them that I wanted to catch the three o'clock up-train, adding a purposely indefinite remark about having some arrangements to make in town.

'Is Mr Dallas going to meet you, my dear?' asked Mrs Tipper anxiously.

'No; I am going on a woman's errand,' I replied, with a sad little half-smile at the thought of what their surprise would be if they could know how very literally I was speaking.

'Must you go to-day?—may not I go with you, dear Mary?' pleaded Lilian. 'You are looking so pale and unlike yourself; I do not like the idea of your going alone.'

'I should fancy that there was something really the matter with me, if I could not go alone so short a distance as that, dearie,' I lightly replied. 'I think I will allow my age to protect me.'

She drew nearer to me, looking at me in the nervous, half-afraid way she so frequently did of late, as she laid her hand upon my arm.

'I wish you would not talk like that—dear Mary, why do you?'

I was not strong enough to bear much in this way; so replied with an attempt at a jest, which made her shrink away again. I daresay my jests were flavourless enough, and in strange contrast to my looks.

Mrs Tipper's silent, anxious watchfulness was even harder to bear than Lilian's tender love. It was not my journey to town which puzzled them—I saw that they imagined I was intent upon preparing some little pleasant surprise for them at my wedding—but the change they saw in me, which no amount of diplomacy could hide.

How thankful I was, when I at length made my escape to my own room; but I was not allowed to go alone. I had to bear Lilian's loving attendance whilst I was putting on my bonnet and cloak. Indeed, she lingered by my side until I had got half-way down the lane.

'You will not be very late, Mary?'

'No, dearie; I think not—I hope not.'

'We shall be longing to see you back.'

'And you must not be surprised if I return in a very conceited frame of mind, after being made so much of,' I lightly replied.

'Only come back yourself,' she murmured, giving me a last kiss as she turned away.

Dear Lilian, did she in truth guess something of what the lightness cost me? I knew that I did not deceive her wholly. Although she might be in some doubt as to the cause, I did not succeed in hiding the effects from her.

I arrived at the London terminus about four o'clock, and took a cab, directing the man to drive to a West-end street facing St James's Park. My errand was to one of the largest mansions there, which at any other time I should have considered it required some nerve to approach in a way so humble. I could quite understand the cabman's hesitating inquiry as to whether I wished to be driven to the principal entrance. Probably I did not appear to him quite up to the standard of the housekeeper's room. Fortunately I was not able to give a thought to my appearance. Had I been visiting the Queen, I should have thought of her only as a fellow-woman, in my deep absorption.

Three hours later I was taken back to the railway station in a luxurious carriage, borne swiftly along by spirited horses; a slight, refined, delicate-looking woman, with earnest thoughtful eyes, and attired almost as simply as myself, was sitting by my side with my hand in hers, as we now and again touched upon the subject which occupied our thoughts.

I had found a friend in my time of need, and such a one as I had not dared to hope for. But this in due time. We parted with just a steady look and grasp of the hand.

'To-morrow?'

'Yes; between six and seven.'

I returned to the cottage, certainly not looking worse than when I had quitted it, and was received with a welcome which made me almost lose courage again. Fortunately it was very nearly our usual time for retiring. Fortunately too I had much to do, and it had to be done in the small-hours of the night, so that I had no time to give to the indulgence of my feelings when I was left alone in my room. First turning out the contents of my drawers and boxes, I separated from them a few things which were absolutely needful for my purpose. One dress and cloak and bonnet were all that I should require, besides a small supply of under-clothing. The latter I put into a small trunk which Becky could easily carry, and then replaced the other things in the drawers again, arranging and ticketing them in orderly methodical fashion as I wished them by-and-by to be distributed. If 'Tom' should in course of time prove more appreciative of Becky—which in consequence of a hint I had received from Lydia, I did not despair of so much as she did—I pleased myself with the idea that the contents of certain drawers would make a very respectable outfit for her. The plain gray silk dress which I had purchased for my own wedding would not be too fine for hers. In a note placed on the top of the things, I begged Mrs Tipper to give them to Becky when the right time came. Afterwards I took out the little collection of my dear mother's jewellery.