itself in her, and with a groan I left the room.




CHAPTER XLIII.

I was just outside the garden door, when I felt an arm thrown round me, my
cheek kissed and wetted with tears. Could it be Lilian? Alas, no! It
was her mother's voice, that, between laughing and crying, exclaimed
hysterically: "This is joy, to see you again, and on these thresholds. I
have just come from your house; I went there on purpose to congratulate
you, and to talk to you about Lilian. But you have seen her?"

"Yes; I have but this moment left her. Come this way." I drew Mrs.
Ashleigh back into the garden, along the old winding walk, which the
shrubs concealed from view of the house. We sat down on a rustic seat
where I had often sat with Lilian, midway between the house and the Monks'
Well. I told the mother what had passed between me and her daughter; I
made no complaint of Lilian's coldness and change; I did not hint at its
cause. "Girls of her age will change," said I, "and all that now remains
is for us two to agree on such a tale to our curious neighbours as may
rest the whole blame on me. Man's name is of robust fibre; it could not
push its way to a place in the world, if it could not bear, without
sinking, the load idle tongues may lay on it. Not so Woman's Name: what
is but gossip against Man, is scandal against Woman."

"Do not be rash, my dear Allen," said Mrs. Ashleigh, in great distress.
"I feel for you, I understand you; in your case I might act as you do. I
cannot blame you. Lilian is changed,--changed unaccountably. Yet sure I