92 ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLITTERS.

Edward therefore trusted to chance, and he
had not gone very far down a lane leading to
the common of Abbeyweld, when he saw her
seated under a tree (where heroines are surely
found at some period or other of their life’s
eventful history) reading a letter. Of course he
interrupted her, and then apologised.

“ The letter,” said Rose, frankly, “ is from
poor Helen.” ee

“© Why do you call her poor?” he inquired.

‘‘ Because she is very ill; and I am going to
her to-morrow morning.”

*¢ T]] !—to-morrow !—so suddenly—so soon
stammered Edward.

Rose turned homewards with an air of cold
constraint. She could not attribute Edward’s
agitation to any other cause than his anxiety on
Helen’s account, and the conviction gave her
intense pain.

*‘ Stay, Rose,” he said. Rose walked steadi-
ly forward. ‘ There is,” he continued bitterly,
‘“‘ a curse, a spell upon this place. Do you not
remember that it was here—here, within five
yards of where we stand—that she first ’
But where’s the use of thinking of that, or any
thing else,” he exclaimed with a sudden burst
of passion, “‘ where a woman is concerned?
They are all, gil alike, and Iam oo fool!
But go, Rose, go—enjoy her splendour, and lie
in wait, as she did, for some rich idiot!”

It was now Rose’s turn to interrupt. ‘Turn-