"Pardon me, Ella, but I do not see how anything of that kind could come to pass. Your uncle was too shrewd a man not to take every proper precaution in a matter so gravely important."
Ella did not answer for a few moments, and when she spoke it was with hesitation. "Might there not be such a thing as a flaw in the title?"
Conroy started slightly. "In his title, do you mean? I cannot think of anything more improbable. Have you any reason for suggesting this?"
"Here we are at home," said Ella hurriedly, for they had reached it. "I cannot tell you anything more, and you must please not ask me to. In any case, whatever happens, I trust that I shall be enabled to do my duty."
"That I am sure you will always do," responded Conroy, warmly. "Remember," he added in a low tone, "that in good fortune or evil fortune my love for you can never change."
They were standing under the porch, not yet having rung. She looked up with a shy sweet smile as he spoke. The opportunity was too tempting to be resisted; he might not have another one for ever so long. He was an audacious man in many ways, and before Ella was aware, his arms were round her and his lips pressed to hers.
[CHAPTER XI.]
NOTHING VENTURE, NOTHING WIN
Maria Kettle returned from Leamington in mourning. Mrs. Page was dead, and had left Maria two thousand pounds. "Better than nothing of course," grumbled the Vicar; "but she might just as well have made it three or four thousand while she was about it." He had always thought she would. Maria was truly glad to get back home again, and she told nobody about her little fortune. She and Ella met like sisters who had been long parted. What a number of things they had to say to each other, yet each shrank from speaking of that which lay closest to their hearts. Maria said nothing about her semi-engagement to Philip Cleeve, while Ella did not mention Edward Conroy. It seemed such a little while ago since they were mutually affirming that they would never marry--or at least not for many years to come; and yet, after all their grand resolutions, when put to the test, they had proved no stronger minded than the rest of their sex. Each felt slightly ashamed to think of all this; yet, strange to say, neither of them would have exchanged her present bondage for that past freedom. But a great blow was about to fall on Maria.
The more the Reverend Mr. Kettle puzzled over the loss of his purse, the more inclined he was to connect Philip Cleeve with it in some way. He did not absolutely say to himself that Philip had taken the purse, but it was strange how the young man's image always came into his mind in connection with the loss. It may be that he owed this feeling to Dr. Downes.