"Why?" the girl asked, suddenly turning her innocent eyes upon him in some surprise. "Why should he care?"

The Rector's face glowed.

"Because he--he must care." The answer was ridiculously inadequate, he knew, but he had nothing else to say. "How can he help caring when he sees that you care?--unless he has no more feeling than a log or a block of stone." He smote his hand angrily against the trunk of a tree beside him as he spoke.

Still Enid looked at him with the same expression of amazement. But little by little his emotion seemed to affect her too--the blush to pass from his face to her pale cheeks.

"But--but," she stammered, at length, "you are wrong--in that way--in the way you think. I do not care."

"You do not care? For him do you not care?"

"As a cousin," said Enid faintly--"yes."

"Not as a lover?" The Rector spoke so low she could hardly hear a word.

"No."

"Not as a husband?"

"No."

"Then why did you consent to marry him?"

One question had followed another so naturally that the strangeness of each had not been felt. But Enid's cheeks were crimson now.

"Oh, I don't know--don't ask me! I felt miserable, and I thought that he would be a help to me--and he isn't. I can't talk to him--I can't trust him--I can't ask him what to do! And we are both bound, and yet we are not bound; and it is as wretched for him as it is for me--and I don't know what to do."

"Could you trust me better than you have trusted him?" said the Rector hoarsely.

He knew that he was not acting quite in accordance with what men usually termed the laws of honor; but it seemed to him that the time had come for contempt of a merely conventional law. Was Perseus, arriving ere the sacrifice of Andromeda was completed, to hesitate in rescuing her because the sea-monster had prior rights, forsooth? Was he--Maurice Evandale--to stand aside while this gentle delicate creature--the only woman that he had ever loved--was badgered into an early grave by cold-hearted kinsmen who wanted to sacrifice her to some family whim? He would do what he could to save her! There was something imperious in his heart which would not let him hold his tongue.

"Trust you? Oh, yes--I could trust you with anything!" said Enid, half unconscious of the full meaning of her words.

"Do you understand me?" said Mr. Evandale. He dropped upon one knee beside her chair, so as to bring his face to a level with hers, and gently took both her hands between his own as he spoke. "I want you to trust me with your life--with yourself! Make no mistake this time, Enid.

Could you not only trust me, but care for me? For, if you can, I will do my best to make you happy."

"Oh, I don't know!" said Enid. She looked at him as if frightened, then withdrew her hands from his clasp and put them before her face. "It is so sudden--I never thought----"

"You never thought that I loved you? No; I have kept silence because I thought that you loved another. But, if that is not true, and if you are only trying to uphold a family arrangement which is painful perhaps to both of you, why, then, there is nothing to keep me silent! I step in and offer you a way out of the difficulty. If you can love me, I am ready to give you my whole life, Enid. I have never in my life loved a woman as I love you. And I think that you could care for me a little; I seem to read it in your eyes--your poor tired eyes! Rest on me, my darling--trust to me--and we will fight through your difficulties together."

He had drawn her gently towards him as he spoke. She did not resist; her head rested on his shoulder, her slender fingers stole again into his hand; she drew a sigh of perfect well-being and content. This man, at any rate, she could trust with all her heart.

"Do you love me a little, Enid?"

"I think so."

"You are not yet sure?"

"I am not sure of anything; I have been so tossed about--so perplexed--so troubled. I feel as if I could be at rest with you--is that enough?"

"For the present. We will wait; and, if you feel more for me, or if you feel less--whatever happens--you must let me know, and I will be content."

"You are very good! But, oh"--with a sudden shrinking movement--"I--I shall have broken my word!"

"Yes; I am sorry that you have to do it. But better break your word than marry a man you do not love."

"And who does not love me," said Enid, in an exceedingly low tone.

"Are you really sure of that, Enid?"

"Indeed--indeed I think so! He is so cold and indifferent, and we never agree when we talk together--he seems impatient of my ideas. Our tastes are quite different; I am sure that I should not be happy with him, nor he with me."

"You will be brave then, my love, and tell him so?"

"Yes." But again she shrank from him. "Oh, what shall I do if she--if Flossy tells me that I must?"

Mr. Evandale frowned.

"Are you so much afraid of Mrs. Vane?"

"Yes," she said timorously--"I am. She--she frightens me! Oh, don't be angry! I know I am very weak; but indeed I cannot help it!"--and she burst into despairing tears.

"My darling, my poor little Enid, I am not angry at all! We will brave her together, you and I. You shall not be afraid of her any longer; you will know that I am always near you to protect you--to strengthen you.

And you will trust to me?"

She tried to answer "Yes;" but her strength suddenly seemed to die away from her. She slipped from his arm and lay back upon the cushions; a bluish tinge overspread her lips; her face turned deathly white; she seemed upon the verge of a swoon.

Evandale, alarmed as he was, did not lose his presence of mind.

Fortunately he had in his pocket a flask of brandy which he had been about to carry to a sick parishioner. In a moment he had it uncorked and was compelling her to swallow a mouthful or two; then he fanned her with the great black fan which had lain upon her lap; and finally he remembered that he had seen a great watering-can full of water standing in the garden path not far away, and found that it had not been removed.

The cold water with which he moistened her lips and brow brought her to herself; in a few minutes she was able to look up at him and smile, and presently declared herself quite well. But Evandale was very grave.

"Are you often faint, Enid?" he asked.

"Rather often; but this"--with a little tinge of color in her pale cheeks--"this is just a common kind of faintness--it is not like the other."

"I know; but I do not like you to turn faint in this way. May I ask you a few questions about yourself?"

"Oh, yes--I know that you are quite a doctor!" said Enid, smiling at him with perfect confidence.

So the Rector put his questions--and very strange questions some of them were, thought Enid, though he was wonderfully correct in guessing what she felt. Yes, she was nearly always faint and sick; she had a strange burning sensation sometimes in her chest; she had violent palpitations, and odd feelings of a terrible fright and depression. But the doctor had assured her that she had not the faintest trace of organic disease of the heart; and that these functional disturbances would speedily pass away. Mr. Ingledew had sounded her and told her that she need not be alarmed--and of course he was a very clever man.

"Enid," said the Rector at last, after a long pause, and rather as if he was trying to make a sort of joke which, after all, was not amusing, "I am going to ask you what you will think a very foolish question. Have you an enemy in the house--here, at Beechfield Hall?"

Enid's eyes dilated with a look of terror.

"Why--why do you ask?"

"It is a ridiculous question, is it not? But I thought that perhaps somebody had been playing on your nerves, and wanting to frighten you about yourself. Is there anybody who might possibly do so?"