IT

CHAPTER XXV.

THE SNARE IS BROKEN.

T was the eighth of April, and the boys of Alderport Grammar School were rejoicing in their Easter holidays.

Jack Fenway and Paul and Herbert Raydon were going a-fishing on that sunny spring morning-too sunny for the disciples of Isaak Walton. But there was a fresh breeze, and a few clouds scudded rapidly across the sky. And what if the trout did not rise? They would still have the long pleasant tramp to the trout-stream, nine miles away from the busy town; and then the delight of treading ankle-deep in fragrant meadowgrass, and of breathing the clear April air!

At a quarter past ten the three lads walked briskly through the High Street of Alderport, carrying their fishing-rods in their hands. The

business of the day had just begun. As they passed the principal bank, a man came hastily out of the door, and brushed against them. It was George Clariston.

"Good morning," said Jack, who was just then in excellent humour with himself and all the world.

As he spoke he glanced at George's face, and something that he saw there startled him. That handsome face had lost its colour; the eyes looked hollow and strange. For a moment George did not seem to recognise him his look rested on Jack's familiar features as if he had never seen them before.

"Good morning," he returned, suddenly forcing a smile; and the three boys went their way. "Clariston looks uncommonly ill," remarked Paul Raydon to his companions.

"I thought so," responded Jack gravely.

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'I suppose, old fellow, he will claim you as a brother-in-law by-and-by," said Paul, after a pause.

"Not yet, Raydon, I hope. Father will not give his sanction to the match until he knows more of Clariston."

Why, Fenway, everybody regards it as a settled thing. No young lady would take daily walks with a gentleman, and receive daily visits from him, unless she were engaged to him."

Jack was silent, but he felt bitterly that Ada had far exceeded the limits of the doctor's permission. He knew well enough that when his father consented that George's visits should be continued, he did not mean that they should become more frequent. The invalid had little knowledge of what was going on downstairs. It was expedient to guard him carefully from all excitement. He was now so far improved in health that he could bear an occasional interview with Ada; but he had never been alone with her since that memorable Sunday when she had made her confession.

He asked very few questions of those around him. Aunt Emily always contrived to wear a cheerful face, although she was often sorely troubled and perplexed; and as Ada had never looked so radiant as she had done of late, there was nought to disturb the doctor's peace. He had nothing to do but to keep still, and get well

in a slow fashion; and he quietly submitted to this decree.

Jack's silence told Paul that he had said too much; and the rector's son was sorry for his illtimed candour. Inwardly congratulating himself that he had no sisters to unsettle his mind, Paul began to talk fluently on other subjects, and all the three boys were soon at their ease again.

They stopped at a shop to purchase some line; then, falling into an interesting chat with the shopkeeper, who was an old hand at angling, they wasted nearly a quarter of an hour before his counter. And as they emerged from the shop, George Clariston passed them a second time.

Jack followed him with his eyes, and saw him walk rapidly to the railway-station.

"I wish he would go away and never come back!" thought the lad, petulantly, little dreaming that his wish was about to be realised.

But when he found himself in the wide meadow, and watched the silver stream that went sliding through the long grass, he forgot all about George Clariston. Standing in that meadow and breathing the violet-scented air, no healthy boy could