After the departure of Miss Maitland, Peace remained for a few minutes like one stupified.
He presently recovered himself, and walked slowly along the gravel path in the garden until he had reached the gate.
He opened it, passed through, and crept down the lane which skirted the side entrance of the widow’s residence.
He cast one long lingering look at the cottage, heaved a deep sigh, and walked on with accelerated speed.
“I’ve been too precipitate,” he ejaculated, as he proceeded along; “much too precipitate, and by my rashness have lost the only woman I ever loved—the only woman. How could I have been such a fool? Not, perhaps, that she would have been persuaded to listen to my suit, not in any case; but I have thrown away whatever little chance I had. Well, she gave me a plain and positive answer. And it’s likely enough that some one else is after her.”
As this thought passed through his brain he uttered curses loud and deep.
Crestfallen, and in a state bordering on distraction, he reached Sheffield, where he joined a lot of boon companions, in whose company he vainly strove to drown the sorrow which weighed so heavily upon his heart.
For the next few days he was in a state of nervous excitement.
He could not forget the words that had fallen from the lips of Aveline.
Did she suspect aught? Had some mischievous busybody been speaking against him? It was likely enough. There must have been some powerful influence at work. The more he reflected upon the subject the more he felt assured that some one had given her a timely caution. Who could it be?