It was a clear, bright December day, and when the young people separated
to prepare for a ride, while the general and the major sunned themselves
on the terrace, Lady Treherne said to her nephew, "I am going for an
airing in the pony carriage. Will you be my escort, Maurice?"

"With pleasure," replied the young man, well knowing what was in
store for him.

My lady was unusually taciturn and grave, yet seemed anxious to say
something which she found difficult to utter. Treherne saw this, and
ended an awkward pause by dashing boldly into the subject which
occupied both.

"I think you want to say something to me about Tavie, Aunt. Am I right?"

"Yes."

"Then let me spare you the pain of beginning, and prove my sincerity by
openly stating the truth, as far as I am concerned. I love her very
dearly, but I am not mad enough to dream of telling her so. I know that
it is impossible, and I relinquish my hopes. Trust me. I will keep
silent and see her marry Annon without a word of complaint, if you will
it. I see by her altered manner that you have spoken to her, and that my
little friend and nurse is to be mine no longer. Perhaps you are wise,
but if you do this on my account, it is in vain--the mischief is done,
and while I live I shall love my cousin. If you do it to spare her, I am
dumb, and will go away rather than cause her a care or pain."

"Do you really mean this, Maurice?" And Lady Treherne looked at him with
a changed and softened face.