the clock on the mantelpiece. When that showed that it only wanted a quarter of an hour to the time appointed for the train to start, he came up to Ellinor, who sat leaning her head upon her hand, her hand resting on the table.
“Miss Wilkins,” he began—and there was something peculiar in his tone which startled Ellinor—“I am sure you will not scruple to apply to me if in any possible way I can help you in this sad trouble of yours?”
“No, indeed I won’t!” said Ellinor, gratefully, and putting out her hand as a token. He took it, and held it; she went on, a little more hastily than before: “You know you were so good as to say you would go at once and see Miss Monro, and tell her all you know, and that I will write to her as soon as I can.”
“May I not ask for one line?” he continued, still holding her hand.
“Certainly: so kind a friend as you shall hear all I can tell; that is, all I am at liberty to tell.”
“A friend! Yes, I am a friend; and I will not urge any other claim just now. Perhaps”
Ellinor could not affect to misunderstand him. His manner implied even more than his words.
“No!” she said, eagerly. “We are friends. That is it. I think we shall always be friends,
