unfortunate Jehu, looking demurely upon his wrecked harness and dusty steed.
Gwyneth comforted the little man as best she could, and, inserting the straggling straps into buckles and rings, essayed to proceed on her way.
"Miss Elms," said Tom, placing his hand on the girl's arm. Her face had resumed the expression of settled melancholy that imparted to her clear-cut features a solemn beauty of their own.
"I have long wanted to impart some information to you," he began. "I can tell you something of your sorry young lover."
The girl started, imagining that he spoke of Travers. Malduke was in his mind, as he continued—
"He's not worthy of you. I can tell you of a little intrigue I witnessed at Heatherside."
The mention of Eva's home roused the girl.
"Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Lord," Gwyneth replied, "but really I do not care to discuss the matter."
"Do please sit for a moment on this bench," he replied. "I dare not hang up 'Snowden' again, but I can hold the reins. Let me tell you what I know."
Ah, why did she not stay and hear? A few words as to Malduke's movements would have cleared up everything. Days and nights of anguish would have been spared the lonely girl had she only listened to the little man's story. How often do the Fates, our own impatience, or readiness to believe the worst, cause us to miss the chance, when it comes, of forgiving and being forgiven!
"I must tell you," continued Tom, intent upon conveying his information, "I saw him in Eva's room, cutting out a beautiful representation of yourself from a silver case."
