forward again and reared almost upright. Another instant and the cart would have been overturned, had not Mark, springing to the mare's head, with voice and hand checked and soothed her. It was adroitly and fearlessly done, and scarcely occupied a moment. The next, and the stranger had rendered his ready thanks to the active sailor, cast a keen glance on the dark-eyed girl in the duffle cloak who had retreated close to the yew hedge, and was rolling rapidly along the lane towards Hamelford Market. Freda drew a long breath of relief. 'I thought the horse would have trampled on you,' she said, as Mark came back to her side. No fear of that. Who's the young spark, I wonder?' and they both looked after him. 'I've seen him in Hamelford before,' Freda observed, rather absently, but I haven't heard his name.' 'He might have had an awkward fall through his hard driving. Are you going in?' for she had turned towards home. 'Yes, don't you hear the clock striking? I'm late already.' In truth, she was feeling as if at any moment her self-control might utterly give way. 'I shall see you again before you go?' Even then she hated herself for asking it, but yet—but yet— 'Why, yes.' As she moved away he half put out a hand to stop her, but she did not or would not see it. For a minute he lingered irresolutely, watching her retreating figure. Then with an impatient start and clouded brow he faced about, and turned down towards the shore. I wish I had let him tell me,' so ran Freda's tumultuous thoughts. 'I believe he would have done it, and then it would have been over, and I should have been quite sure. It would be better to be sure. I wish I had let him tell me! I will next time.' CHAPTER VI. 'A lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright; OING to-day? Why, it's enough to take one's breath away.' 'There's a smack sails from Bristol to Liverpool to-morrow morning, and they are short of hands. It's a fine chance; for once there I'll soon work my way up to Greenock, and if I let it slip I mayn't get another yet awhile.' 'So you're off this evening?' 'Yes; I promised the mate I'd be in Bristol before dawn to-morrow. I only settled it last night.' It was not much more than a fortnight after Mrs. Cameron's death. Miss Morton was inside the front garden, rake in hand, and Mark stood on the pebble footpath of the steep street, his elbow resting on the stone coping of the low wall. She did not feel especially cordial to him just then. That matter of the money had fallen out quite otherwise than she expected, and Mark, now that he was penniless, wore a changed aspect in her eyes. Still, for very shame, she did not care to show him this too plainly, and she could do no less than invite him into the house. 'Is Freda there? I must say good-bye to her before I go.' Why, no; as it happens, she isn't. It's not once in a twelvemonth that she goes out for a whole day; but little Sally Castle, the forester's child, is lying ill over at Combe, and the mother begged for Freda to go and look after her for a bit.' 'When will she be back?' Mark asked quickly. 'Not till to-morrow morning. It's a good eight miles from here, and they promised to I send her over in the tax-cart betimes. could ill spare her, but Mrs. Castle made such a favour of it.' The last part of this speech was lost upon Mark. He was looking up at the church tower. Half-past four, and I must be away from here by six at latest. I couldn't do it if I got a cast in a cart both ways, no, nor even if I could find some one to lend me a nag. Why on earth didn't I come earlier? I never dreamt she'd be away.' 'Well, it's unlucky certainly, but it won't be very long before you're back again, I take it?' 'That depends on what you call long,' Mark returned bluntly. Miss Morton had thrown out her question as a feeler. She might just as well know something of his plans. Maybe you'll settle down in the north?' she suggested. Maybe. I can't tell,' he said absently, resting his chin on his hand and looking straight before him. Then suddenly rousing himself— |