time they had seen each other since the murder of Lady Hereward, except at the inquest.
The girl had not sat down, but stood with her eyes fixed on the ground, as if she did not wish to meet Sir Ian's. They were fixed upon her sadly, for he was thinking how different she had been when first she had come to live at Friars' Moat.
"Won't you sit down and talk to me—or rather, let me talk to you?" he asked.
Nora shook her head, still not looking up. "I like standing," she said.
"How changed you are!" he could not help exclaiming.
"Yes," she admitted.
"What a cruel thing it seems that other people's sorrows should trouble your life! But thank Heaven, you're young. You will forget before long—when you begin to lead your own life."
The girl did not answer, but from under the down cast lashes two tears rolled.
"Poor child!" said Sir Ian. "I haven't come to question you, about anything—or any one—you don't want to speak of. But I have had you very much on my mind since—for the last few days."
"You need not," Nora protested.
"I should be a strange man if I hadn't," he said. "My wife was fond of you. Perhaps you didn't
