"Don't be modest.

Wait and give it to her with your own hand." "No, sir," said Moody "I would rather leave it, if you please, to speak for itself." Hardyman understood the delicacy of feeling which dictated those words, and, without well knowing why, resented it.

He was on the point of speaking, under the influence of this unworthy motive, when Isabel's voice reached his ears, calling to him from the cottage.
Moody's face contracted with a sudden expression of pain as he, too, recognized the voice.

"Don't let me detain you, sir," he said, sadly.
"Good-morning!" Hardyman left him without ceremony.

Moody, slowly following, entered the tent.