Nell of Shorne Mills

He laughed grimly.

"Oh, it's no more than I had a right to expect. Don't forget what I told

you about holding your reins--that's right."

"Is it about money?" she asked timidly. "I always think bad luck means

that."

He nodded.

"Yes; I've lost a great deal of money lately," he replied vaguely.

"And--and I must leave Shorne Mills."

"I am sorry," she said simply, and without attempting to conceal her

regret. "I--we--have almost grown to think that you belonged here. Will

you be sorry to go?"

He glanced at her innocent eyes and frowned.

"Yes; very much," he replied. "There is a fascination in this place. It

is so quiet, so beautiful, so remote, so far away from the world which I

hate!"

"You hate? Why do you hate it?" she asked.

He bit his lip again.

"Because it is false and hollow," he replied. "No man--or woman--thinks

what he or she says, or says what he or she thinks."

"Then why go back to it?" she asked. "But all the people in London can't

be--bad and false," she added, as if she were considering his sweeping

condemnation.

"Oh, not all," he said. "I've been unfortunate in my acquaintances,

perhaps, as Voltaire said."

He looked across the moor again absently. Her question, "Then why go

back to it?" haunted him. It was absurd to imagine that he could remain

at Shorne Mills. The quiet life had been pleasant, he had felt better in

health here than he had done for years; but--well, a man who has spent

so many years in the midst of the whirl of life is very much like the

old prisoner of the Bastille who, when he was released by the

revolutionary mob, implored to be taken back again. One gets used to the

din and clamor of society as one gets used to the solemn quiet of a

prison. Besides, he was, or had been, a prominent figure in the

gallantry show, and he seemed to belong to it.

"One isn't always one's own master," he said, after a pause.

Nell turned her eyes to him.

"Are not you?" she said, a little shyly. "You seem so--so free to do

just what you please."

He laughed rather grimly.

"Do you know what I should do if I were as free as I seem, Miss Nell?"

he asked. "I should take one of these farms"--he nodded to a rural

homestead, one of the smallest and simplest, which stood on the edge of

the moor--"and spend the rest of my life making clotted cream and

driving cows and pigs to market."