With a feeling of
oppressed pain she recalled the last time she and Mottram had been alone
together. Bound for a distant spot on the coast, they had gone on and on
for miles, almost up to the cliffs below which lay the sea. Ah, how
happy, how innocent she had felt that day! Then they had come to a stile--Mottram had helped her up, helped her
down, and for a moment her hand had lain and fluttered in his hand....

During the long walk back, each had been very silent; and Catherine--she
could not answer for her companion--when she had seen Charles waiting
for her patiently, had felt a pained, shamed beat of the heart. As for
James Mottram, he had gone home at once, scarce waiting for good-nights. That evening--Catherine remembered it now with a certain comfort--she
had been very kind to Charles; she was ever kind, but she had then been
kinder than usual, and he had responded by becoming suddenly clearer in
mind than she had known him to be for a long time. For some days he had
been the old Charles--tender, whimsical, gallant, the Charles with whom,
at a time when every girl is in love with love, she had alack! fallen in
love. Then once more the cloud had come down, shadowing a dreary waste
of days--dark days of oppression and of silence, alternating with sudden
bursts of unreasonable and unreasoning rage. James Mottram had come, and come frequently, during that time of misery. But his manner had changed. He had become restrained, as if watchful of
himself; he was no longer the free, the happy, the lively companion he
had used to be. Catherine scarcely saw him out of Charles's presence,
and when they were by chance alone they talked of Charles, only of
Charles and of his unhappy condition, and of what could be done to
better it. And now James Mottram had given up coming to Edgecombe in the old
familiar way; or rather--and this galled Catherine shrewdly--he came
only sufficiently often not to rouse remark among their servants and
humble neighbours. *       *       *       *       *

Catherine Nagle was on the edge of the wood, and looking about her she
saw with surprise that the railway men she had come down to see had
finished work for the day. There were signs of their immediate
occupation, a fire was still smouldering, and the door of one of the
shanties they occupied was open. But complete stillness reigned in this
kingdom of high trees. To the right and left, as far as she could see,
stretched the twin lines of rude iron rails laid down along what had
been a cart-track, as well as a short cut between Edgecombe Manor and
Eype Castle. A dun drift, to-day's harvest of dead leaves, had settled
on the rails; even now it was difficult to follow their course. As she stood there, about to turn and retrace her steps, Catherine
suddenly saw James Mottram advancing quickly towards her, and the
mingled revolt and sadness which had so wholly possessed her gave way to
a sudden, overwhelming feeling of security and joy. She moved from behind the little hut near which she had been standing,
and a moment later they stood face to face. James Mottram was as unlike Charles Nagle as two men of the same age, of
the same breed, and of the same breeding could well be. He was shorter,
and of sturdier build, than his cousin; and he was plain, whereas
Charles Nagle was strikingly handsome. Also his face was tanned by
constant exposure to sun, salt-wind, and rain; his hair was cut short,
his face shaven. The very clothes James Mottram wore were in almost ludicrous contrast to
those which Charles Nagle affected, for Mottram's were always of
serviceable homespun. But for the fact that they and he were
scrupulously clean, the man now walking by Catherine Nagle's side might
have been a prosperous farmer or bailiff instead of the owner of such
large property in those parts as made him, in spite of his unpopular
faith, lord of the little world about him. On his plain face and strong, sturdy figure Catherine's beautiful eyes
dwelt with unconscious relief. She was so weary of Charles's absorption
in his apparel, and of his interest in the hundred and one fal-lals
which then delighted the cosmopolitan men of fashion. A simple, almost childish gladness filled her heart. Conscience, but
just now so insistent and disturbing a familiar, vanished for a space,
nay more, assumed the garb of a meddling busybody who seeks to discover
harm where no harm is. Was not James Mottram Charles's friend, almost, as the old priest had
said, Charles's brother? Had she not herself deliberately chosen Charles
in place of James when both young men had been in ardent pursuit of
her--James's pursuit almost wordless, Charles's conducted with all the
eloquence of the poet he had then set out to be? Mottram, seeing her in the wood, uttered a word of surprise. She
explained her presence there. Their hands scarce touched in greeting,
and then they started walking side by side up the field path. Mottram carried a stout ash stick. Had the priest been there he would
perchance have noticed that the man's hand twitched and moved restlessly
as he swung his stick about; but Catherine only became aware that her
companion was preoccupied and uneasy after they had gone some way. When, however, the fact of his unease seemed forced upon her notice, she
felt suddenly angered. There was a quality in Mrs. Nagle that made her
ever ready to rise to meet and conquer circumstance. She told herself,
with heightened colour, that James Mottram should and must return to his
old ways--to his old familiar footing with her. Anything else would be,
nay was, intolerable. "James,"--she turned to him frankly--"why have you not come over to see
us lately as often as you did? Charles misses you sadly, and so do I. Prepare to find him in a bad mood to-day. But just now he distressed
Mr. Dorriforth by his unreasonableness touching the railroad." She
smiled and went on lightly, "He said that you were a false friend to
him--a traitor!" And then Catherine Nagle stopped and caught her breath. God! Why had she
said that? But Mottram had evidently not caught the sinister word, and
Catherine in haste drove back conscience into the lair whence conscience
had leapt so suddenly to her side. "Maybe I ought, in this matter of the railroad," he said musingly, "to
have humoured Charles. I am now sorry I did not do so. After all,
Charles may be right--and all we others wrong. The railroad may not
bring us lasting good!" Catherine looked at him surprised. James Mottram had always been so sure
of himself in this matter; but now there was dejection, weariness in his
voice; and he was walking quickly, more quickly up the steep incline
than Mrs. Nagle found agreeable. But she also hastened her steps,
telling herself, with wondering pain, that he was evidently in no mood
for her company. "Mr. Dorriforth has already been here two days," she observed
irrelevantly. "Aye, I know that. It was to see him I came to-day; and I will ask you
to spare him to me for two or three hours.