Mr.Alwynn and Mr.Conway simultaneously broke into incoherent ejaculations respecting the pleasure of their visit; Ruth's hand met Charles's for an embarrassed second; and a moment later they were whirling down the straight wide approach, between the columns of fantastically clipped hollies, leaving Charles standing in the door-way.

He was still standing there when the carriage rolled under the arched gate-way with its rampant stone lions.

Ruth glanced back once, as they turned into the road, at the stately old house, with its pointed gables and forests of chimneys cutting the gray sky-line.

She saw the owner turn slowly and go up the steps, and looked hastily away again.
"Poor Danvers!" said Mr.Alwynn, cheerfully, also looking, and putting Ruth's thoughts into words.

"He must be desperately lonely in that house all by himself; but I suppose he is not often there." And Mr.Alwynn, whose mind had been entirely relieved since Ruth's engagement from the dark suspicion he had once harbored respecting Charles, proceeded to dilate upon the merits of the charters, and of the owner of the charters, until he began to think Ruth had a headache, and finding it to be the case, talked no more till they reached, at the end of their little journey, the door of Slumberleigh Rectory.
"Is it very bad ?" he asked, kindly, as he helped her out of the carriage.
Ruth assented, fortunately with some faint vestige of truth, for her hat hurt her forehead.
"Then run up straight to your own room, and I will tell your aunt that you will come and have a chat with her later on, perhaps after tea, when the post will be gone." Mr.Alwynn spoke in the whisper of stratagem.
Ruth was only too thankful to be allowed to slip on tiptoe to her own room, but she had not been there many minutes when a tap came to the door.
"There, my dear," said Mr.Alwynn, putting his head in, and holding some letters towards her.