“If it should be so,” I began, “and I hope it is⁠—”

“I don’t know that it is,” said my aunt curtly. “You must not be ruled by my suspicions. You must keep them secret. They are very slight, perhaps. I have no right to speak.”

“If it should be so,” I repeated, “Agnes will tell me at her own good time. A sister to whom I have confided so much, aunt, will not be reluctant to confide in me.”

My aunt withdrew her eyes from mine, as slowly as she had turned them upon me; and covered them thoughtfully with her hand. By and by she put her other hand on my shoulder; and so we both sat, looking into the past, without saying another word, until we parted for the night.

I rode away, early in the morning, for the scene of my old schooldays. I cannot say that I was yet quite happy, in the hope that I was gaining a victory over myself; even in the prospect of so soon looking on her face again.