you may know, have brought pressure to bear. Last night he virtually settled matters with Miss Dowling and her parents. I was there; saw him kiss her in the garden; and, listen,"—for Gwyneth was hurrying away—"I saw her later in her own room—the window was open—imprinting a kiss on the silver case you once owned, which now contains his portrait and hers, side by side. I could not help seeing it."
"It is a lie," replied the girl, passionately. "You have concocted this story to make mischief. I know," she continued, "that Eva has not my silver case."
"No," was the reply; "she placed it—I could not avoid observing—on the top of a little book-case hanging on the wall."
"I do not believe one word you say." She stamped her foot petulantly on the ground.
"Were you blind just now?" the man hissed. "Even before the dust from his horses' feet smothered you. Can you not see he despises you—as a poor man's daughter? that they both enjoyed the fun?"
"That again is untrue. But I will not discuss it with you. I will listen no longer to your base suggestions." And Gwyneth hurried along the road towards Heatherside.
"You'll find your property on the little book-case," called he after her.
"The iron is entering into her soul now," he muttered, walking away. "Serve her right. She'll be glad to turn from her gilded lover to the arms of the simple champion of the People, humble though he be. After all," he soliloquized, tossing the hay almost jubilantly, "she might have a better chance of being a fine lady, mistress of all she surveys, with me for her husband, than as the wife of the great Travers. The ground on which he stands is mined."
