for a woman to marry a man she cannot ever respect.  Had I not been withheld partly by my obligation to Catherine, partly by the feeling that I ought to wait and see what God would do, I should have risen that moment and gone straight to Oldcastle Hall, that I might plunge at once into the ocean of my loss, and encounter, with the full sense of honourable degradation, every misconstruction that might justly be devised of my conduct.  For that I had given her up first could never be known even to her in this world.  I could only save her by encountering and enduring and cherishing her scorn.  At least so it seemed to me at the time; and, although I am certain the other higher motives had much to do in holding me back, I am equally certain that this awful vision of the irrevocable fate to follow upon the deed, had great influence, as well, in inclining me to suspend action.

I was still sitting in the hollow, when I heard the sound of horses’ hoofs in the distance, and felt a foreboding of what would appear.  I was only a few yards from the road upon which the sand-cleft opened, and could see a space of it sufficient to show the persons even of rapid riders.  The sounds drew nearer.  I could distinguish the step of a pony and the steps of two horses besides.  Up they came and swept past—­Miss Oldcastle upon Judy’s pony, and Mr Stoddart upon her horse; with the captain upon his own.  How grateful I felt to Mr Stoddart!  And the hope arose in me that he had accompanied them at Miss Oldcastle’s request.

I had had no fear of being seen, sitting as I was on the side from which they came.  One of the three, however, caught a glimpse of me, and even in the moment ere she vanished I fancied I saw the lily-white grow rosy-red.  But it must have been fancy, for she could hardly have been quite pale upon horseback on such a keen morning.

I could not sit any longer.  As soon as I ceased to hear the sound of their progress, I rose and walked home—­much quieter in heart and mind than when I set out.

As I entered by the nearer gate of the vicarage, I saw Old Rogers enter by the farther.  He did not see me, but we met at the door.  I greeted him.

“I’m in luck,” he said, “to meet yer reverence just coming home.  How’s poor Miss Weir to-day, sir?”

“She was rather better, when I left her this morning, than she had been through the night.  I have not heard since.  I left my sister with her.  I greatly doubt if she will ever get up again.  That’s between ourselves, you know.  Come in.”

“Thank you, sir.  I wanted to have a little talk with you.—­You don’t believe what they say—­that she tried to kill the poor little fellow?” he asked, as soon as the study door was closed behind us.

“If she did, she was out of her mind for the moment.  But I don’t believe it.”

And thereupon I told him what both his master and I thought about it.  But I did not tell him what she had said confirmatory of our conclusions.