Fenn George Manville
The Story of Antony Grace

“Mary,” said Hallett, in his quiet telling way, and with a look that made poor Mary his firm friend, “a good surgeon will tell you that he can do much, but that the recovery of a patient principally depends upon the nurse. I see that Mr Revitts is safe in that respect, and I shall be only too glad to hear of his getting well.”

Mary seemed to have a ball rising in her throat, for she could not speak, and this time she forgot to place her pocket handkerchief over her hand, as she caught that of the visitor and kissed it.

“You can be quite at rest, Antony,” Hallett said then. “Mr Ruddle said he was sorry to hear about your friend, and he should leave it to your good sense to come back to work as soon as you could. Mr Lister is away – ill.”

I fancied that he knit his brows as he spoke, but it may have been fancy. Then, turning to Linny, he said:

“I am glad you are set at liberty, Linny. Our mother is very unwell, shall we go now?”

Linny nodded her assent, and put on her hat and jacket; but before they went Mary found it necessary to go down on her knees again, and in a whisper to ask Linny’s pardon; all of which Hallett took as an expression of gratitude, and shook hands warmly as he left.

I went with him down to the door to say good-night, and as we parted I asked him not to think I was neglecting him, now he was in such trouble with his model.

“I do not, my dear boy; and I never shall think ill of you for being faithful to your friends. Good-night; the model is buried for the present. When you can come again, we’ll try once more to bring it back to life.”

I stood watching them as they went together beneath the street lamps, and I was glad to see Linny clinging trustingly to her brother’s arm.

“Poor Linny!” I thought to myself. “She’s very fond of somebody who behaves badly to her. I wonder who it can be.”

Chapter Thirty One.
How Mary Broke Down

Few as the minutes of my absence had been, Mary had done a good deal towards tidying up the room, and as I entered I could see her bonnet and shawl hanging lovingly up against the wall, side by side with poor Bill’s hat and greatcoat, just as if they had newly entered into the holy state of matrimony. There was beginning to be an appetising odour of chicken in the room, the bundle was tucked out of sight, the chairs in order, and it was plain to see that a clever housewife had been at work.

“Oh my, how you have growed, my dear!” whispered Mary ecstatically. “I never did see a boy improve so. And only to think of your running away from old Blakeford and finding out.”

She ran here to the bed to see if her sweetheart was all right, and then turned to me with open arms.

“Give us a kiss, dear,” she cried, and in a moment I was hugged tight in her arms and kissed and fondled again and again. “I am glad to see you, you can’t tell how glad,” she cried softly, “and it was good of you to write. No sooner did I get your letter, than I ups and tells Mrs Blakeford as I was going away directly, because my friend in London was ill.”

“But you did not say I wrote, Mary?” I cried in agony.

“Do you think I was such a silly, my dear? No, I’d got the letter safe in here,” she said, thrusting her hand inside her dress. “Well, as I was saying – stop a moment – let me look at the broth.”

She raised the lid, shut it again, had another look at Revitts, and then went on:

“Who should come in but old Blakeford, and he said gruffly that they couldn’t snare me, and, ‘Can’t spare me!’ I says; ‘well, you just must, for I’m going.’

“‘Then we shan’t pay you your wages,’ says old Blakeford. ‘Then I will make you,’ says I, ‘So now then. I’m not going to have people die for want of help, to please you.’

“‘Who is it then as is dying?’ says Mrs Blakeford.

“‘It’s my sweetheart, mum, if you must know,’ I says.

“‘Then all I can say is, that it’s very indelicate of you, a young unmarried woman, to go up and nurse a single man.’

“‘No more indelicate, mum,’ I says, ‘than for you to want me to nuss Mr Blakeford when he was ill.’

“‘But you didn’t do it,’ she says.

“‘No, mum,’ I says, ‘but you wanted me to, and what’s more, if the whole world and his wife come to me and told me it wasn’t right for me to go, I should go; so now then.’

“‘But when will you come back then, Mary?’ says Mrs Blakeford.

“‘Not at all, mum,’ I says, ‘for after going and nursing a single man as is dying for aught I know, I shan’t be fit company for the folks in this house. I’m going now directly, mum, and I shall leave my box and send for it and my wages too.’”

Here Mary had another look at the patient and the cooking.

“I wasn’t long getting off, I can tell you, and glad enough I was to get away. I’d ha’ left long enough ago, only I didn’t want to make any more changes till the big one, and there was only one as I minded leaving.”

“And that was little Hetty,” I said, as I understood her big change to mean her marriage.

“Yes, my dear, you’re right – little Hetty; and she came and sobbed and cried ever so, with her dear arms round my neck, till I told her that perhaps I might see you, and asked her if I might take you her love; and she sent it to you, and said she always wore your brooch.”

“And is she quite well?” I said, with sparkling eyes.

“Yes, and grows the neatest, prettiest, best girl that ever was. And now, my dear, I’m come to nuss my pore William till he’s well, and then – ”

“Yes, Mary?” for she had paused.

“I shall get a place somewhere in London; for I shan’t go back.”

Then, after another look at the patient, she came back to me.

“Could you drink a cup o’ tea, dear?” she said.

“Yes, Mary, and you must want something.”

“Well, my dear, I do begin to feel a bit faint, for I hadn’t only just begun my breakfast when your letter came, and I haven’t had nothing since.”

The result was that the kettle was soon made to boil, and Mary seemed quite delighted to be pouring out for me and making the toast.

“Lor’, my dear, now it do seem like old times!” she cried.

“Only you’ve grown to look so handsome and well, Mary,” I said.

“Do I, my dear? Well, I am glad. Not as I care myself, but some people might. But, Lor’, I never looked well down at old Blakeford’s. My! what a row there was because you run away – ”

“Was there?” I said with a shudder, half pleasure, half delight.

“Warn’t there?” said Mary, who kept running to the bedside at the slightest movement. “Bless your ’art, old Blakeford was nearly mad, and Miss Hetty ’most cried her eyes out, till I told her you’d be happier away, and then she cried ’em out more than ever, for fear her par should catch you. He was out days and days, until his leg got so bad he was really obliged to go to bed. The dog bit him, you know, the night you run away. Then there was the upset before the magistrates, and that Mr Wooster somehow managed to get the day, because master – I mean old Blakeford – hadn’t got the right witness. And that made master – I mean old Blakeford – worse. And now I don’t think I’ve any more to tell you, only you ain’t half eating your toast. My sakes! it do put me in mind of old times, for it was precious dull when you was gone.”

“Were you cross with me for running away, Mary?”

“I was then, for not telling me, but I soon got to think it was quite right.”

“I hope it was, Mary,” I said; “but did you ever see old Mr Rowle?”

“What, that yellow little man? oh, often; he used to come and talk to me about you, and when I said you was very ungrateful for running away, he used to stick up for you. He didn’t come very often, though,” continued Mary, correcting herself, “because he couldn’t smoke in my kitchen, else I believe he’d have come every night to talk about you.”

A slight moan from poor Revitts took Mary to the bedside, and very soon after she insisted upon my lying down and going to sleep a bit, and when I awoke the next morning, Mary was looking as fresh and wakeful as ever.

I don’t know to this day how Mary managed, for she never seemed to close an eye, but to be always watching over her “pore boy.” When I talked about her going to bed, she only laughed, and said that “a good nuss never wanted no sleep.”

“And now, my dear, you’ve been kep’ away from your work,” she said; “so, as soon as you’ve had your breakfast, you be off. I can manage till you come back. I don’t hold with neglecting nothing.”

She would not hear of opposition, so I left her the field, and went down to the office, where I saw Mr Hallett looking very pale and stern, and soon after I was at my old work, reading to Mr Jabez Rowle, who seemed very glad to see me back, complimenting me on my reading, by saying I was not quite so stupid as my substitute had been.

When I returned to Caroline Street, I found Mary in consultation with the landlady, who then descended, and, to my great delight, Revitts was, if anything, better.

Mary was very glad to see me back, and began to unfold her plans, to wit, that she had found that the front room was to let furnished, and she had taken it of Mrs Keswick, the landlady; for my use.

“It will be better for all of us, my dear,” she said, “so just you hold your tongue.”

I sat up late with Mary that night, and the next, and the next, talking about the past and the future, and still she seemed to get no sleep; but she always laughed about it, and declared that she went to sleep with one eye at a time. Be that as it may, a more patient, untiring nurse man never had, and right through poor Revitts’ weary state of delirium she was always by his pillow, always smiling and cheerful through the worst crisis, till, one night, when I returned to be met by her on the stairs; and, finger on lips, she led me into the front room, to fall on my neck, and silently sob as if her heart would break.

“Oh, Mary, Mary!” I said, “he’s worse; and I thought he seemed so much stronger this morning.”

“No, no, dear,” she sobbed, “he’s better. He opened his eyes this afternoon and knowed me, and said: ‘Ah, Mary, old gal, is that you?’”

Poor woman! The pent-up suffering that had been longing to burst forth, and which had all been hidden behind her mask of smiles, had come pouring out, and for the next half-hour Mary sobbed and wept in a quiet way till I was in despair. Then, to my surprise, she got up in a business-like manner, wiped her eyes, and smiled once more.

“There!” she exclaimed, “I’m better now.”

Chapter Thirty Two.
Coming Off

With Revitts better there was no occasion for me to stop in of an evening, and as soon as I could I went on to the Halletts’, where I was warmly welcomed by the whole family. Mrs Hallett had a string of troubles to tell me, and interspersed with them I had narratives of how different matters used to be.

Linny was very affectionate and kind, but I could see that she looked pale and troubled. Her pretty face lighted up though, whenever her brother spoke, and I noted the air of satisfaction in Hallett’s face as he realised how his sister was keeping to her promise.

“Well, Antony,” he said cheerily, as soon as Mrs Hallett had retired, which was always before nine, Linny going away to attend upon her. “What do you say: shall we go and look at the model?”

“Yes,” I said eagerly; “I’ve been longing to have another turn at it.”

“You are not wearied out then?”

“Wearied out?” I cried, laughing; “no, and I never shall be till I see it a success.”

He sighed, but there was a smile upon his lip at the same time; and leading the way upstairs, we were soon busy over the model.

I saw at a glance that it had remained untouched, covered with the black cloth, ever since that unfortunate morning, so that I did not need his confirming words as he spoke:

“I thought I would leave it till you came.”

That night and many more were taken up in separating and repairing the broken parts of the little piece of mechanism, and then came the difficult task – how to contrive so that it should not again break down.

The days flew by and became weeks, and the weeks months, but still the problem was not solved. Experiment after experiment was tried without effect, and it seemed as if Hallett’s clever brain could only bring the work up to a certain point. Then it required the powers of a second brain to carry it on to perfection.

Meanwhile Revitts had gradually recovered, and more than once related to Mary and me how, on that unfortunate night, he had been attracted by a slight scuffle and a woman’s cry; that he had run up, and the woman had clung to him, which so enraged the man that he had struck him with the heavy stick that he carried, and that was all.

“Should you know the woman again?” I asked, feeling very guilty as the possessor of Linny’s secret.

“No,” he said. “She was only a little thing, quite a girl, and she had her veil down; but I should know the man, and if ever I do get hold of him, if I don’t give him a wunner my name ain’t Revitts.”

He was still too ill to resume his duties, but he used to go out for a walk every day, leaning on Mary’s arm, Mary herself now taking to the room that had been engaged ostensibly for me.

“It’s a-coming off, Antony,” said Revitts to me one night, when I had returned from the office in high glee; for I had received a note from Miss Carr, saying that she wished to see me the next day, she having just returned to town with her sister from a long round of visits, following a tour on the Continent.

“Coming off?” I said, looking from him to Mary and back.

“Don’t you take any notice or his nonsense,” cried Mary, running her arm up to the elbow in one of Revitts’ stockings.

“’Tain’t nonsense,” said Revitts, rubbing his hands softly; “it’s a-coming off soon as ever I’m quite well.”

“’Tain’t,” said Mary tartly. “I’m going to take another place as soon as ever you’re fit to leave.”

“Yes, my dear, so you are,” said Revitts, smiling at me in a soft, smooth, sheepish way; “a place as you won’t never leave no more.”

“It’s all stuff, Master Antony, and I’m not,” cried Mary.

“Tantrums won’t save you from it now, my dear,” said Revitts, shaking his head and pointing to the wall. “I says to myself as soon as ever I began to be able to think again, and see that there shawl and bonnet a-hanging so comfortable-like up again my greatcoat and hat – I says to myself, I says, she’s hung up her bonnet now and give in, and it can be Mrs William Revitts as soon as ever I like.”

“It’s all stuff and nonsense, I tell you. Don’t listen to him, Master Antony.”

“That ain’t a real tantrum,” said Revitts, rubbing his hands; “she’s give in – she’s give in.”

“I declare I wouldn’t have come a-nigh you, Bill, if I’d knowed you’d go on like that before Master Antony,” cried Mary, who was perfectly scarlet.

“Master Antony’s a gentleman,” said Revitts, “and he bears witness that you’ve give in; and, tantrums or no tantrums,” he cried, bringing his hand down upon the table with a bang, “you don’t go away no more. Look at that!”

He took a blue official envelope from his pocket and opened it, took out a letter, and smoothed it upon his knee.

“That’s dictation, that is, Antony. That’s what that is,” he cried, holding up his chin, and giving his head an official roll, as if to settle it in a stock that he was not wearing.

“Why, where did you get that letter?” cried Mary.

“Brought me this afternoon while you was out shopping,” said Revitts triumphantly. “Look here, Antony, that ain’t directed to P.C. Revitts, that ain’t;” and he handed me the envelope, which I read aloud:

“‘To Sergeant Revitts, VV Division, Caroline Street, Pentonville.’”

“‘Sergeant Revitts!’” he said, rising and buttoning up his coat, but pausing to reach down his stiff, shiny stock and buckle it on. “‘Sergeant Revitts,’ if you please; and if,” he said, walking up and down the room excitedly, “it ain’t Inspector Revitts some day, and after that Sooperintendent and a sword, my name ain’t Bill.”

“Hurrah!” I cried; “I am glad;” and then I caught his arm, for, poor fellow, he was very weak yet, and needed the chair Mary placed for him to sit down.

“And you so ill and weak still, and talking about such stuff,” she cried hastily.

“I’m getting round fast enough,” said Revitts; “it was only the ‘sergeant’ took my breath away a bit; that’s all. It’s all right, Antony. It’s a-coming off, ain’t it, Mary, my dear?”

“I am glad, Bill. But they couldn’t have made a better man a sergeant if they’d tried,” said Mary evasively.

“I said it was a-coming off,” said Revitts, “ain’t it?”

He leaned forward, and looked at Mary; she, with the stocking on one arm, and the long darning-needle in her hand, held it as if to keep him off. I saw Mary’s scarlet face gradually raised till her eyes met his, and then a soft, foolish-looking smile began to dawn upon one corner of her lips, pass over to the other, and gradually make them open to show her white teeth, before running right up, and half-closing her eyes. The same kind of smile, but much larger, appeared on Revitts’ face; and there they sat, smiling at one another, till I took up my cap and went out – even my exit being unnoticed – for another good servant was veritably lost to society. Mary’s “tantrums” were at an end.

Chapter Thirty Three.
I Have Another Lesson in Love

I felt rather nervous about asking for leave, but summoning up courage the next day, I knocked at the principal’s door, and Mr Ruddle’s voice bade me come in.

“Well, Grace,” he said, nodding to me pleasantly, “I wanted to see you.”

I looked at him wonderingly.

“Only to say how glad I was to hear such a good account of you from Mr Rowle.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“But Mr Grimstone doesn’t give you much praise,” he continued, with rather a droll look in his eyes; “so I’m afraid you are a very ordinary sort of boy after all. Well, what do you want?”

“I had a note from Miss Carr, sir, saying she would like to see me to-day. Can I be spared?”

“Oh yes, certainly – certainly,” said the old gentleman. “And look here, my man, you’ve made a good friend in that lady. Try and deserve it – deserve it.”

“I will try, sir,” I said.

“That’s right,” he said; “and try hard. – Well, Grimstone, what is it?”

The overseer looked from me to his principal and back again, before rustling some papers in his hand in an ill-used way.

“It’s very hard on me, sir, that more attention isn’t paid to the business. Here are you and me toiling and moiling all day long to keep the customers right, and Mr John at races and steeplechases, and Lord knows what – anything but the business!”

“You’re always grumbling, Grimstone,” said Mr Ruddle testily. “Here, let me see. – You needn’t wait, Grace, you can go.”

I thanked him and hurried off, leaving the two immersed in some business matters, and thinking of nothing else now but my visit.

There was a warm welcome for me at Westmouth Street, and Miss Carr’s eyes looked bright and satisfied, I thought; but I could not help seeing that she was paler and thinner than when I saw her last.

“Well, Antony,” she said, after seating me beside her; “it seems an age since we met. What have you been doing?”

I told her – busy at the office, and also about Mr Revitts.

“Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “I was in the neighbourhood of Rowford last month, and I – ”

“You were down there?” I said eagerly.

“Yes, Antony, and I had a long chat with the old clergyman there, when he visited my friends. He knew your father and mother.”

“Oh yes,” I said, as a flood of recollections came back.

“And he asked me very kindly about you, saying he thought Mr Blakeford had behaved very badly to Mr Grace.”

“I mean to pay Mr Blakeford every penny my dear father owed him,” I said, flushing, and getting up from the couch. “He shall not dare to speak ill of the dead.”

Miss Carr looked at me curiously, and I thought her manner was more tender to me as she took my hand and once more drew me to her side.

“About this Mr Revitts, Antony,” she said; “I think the time has come now when you should have different lodgings.”

“Oh, Miss Carr!” I exclaimed, “he has been so kind to me, such a good friend; and now poor Mary has come up, and they are going to be married, and Mary would be terribly disappointed if I went to lodge anywhere else. He’s Sergeant Revitts now: he has been promoted.”

“If Mr and Mrs Revitts set up a home of their own, that would be different,” she said thoughtfully. “But in your new position, Antony, you ought to be better provided for than while you were at the office.”

“In my new position?” I said, hesitating.

“Yes,” she said, smiling; and as I gazed in her face I thought what a happy man Mr Lister must be. “You said you would like to be an engineer, when I saw you last.”

“Oh yes,” I said, “and then I could help Mr Hallett with his model.”

There was a little spot of colour in each of her cheeks as I spoke, and a slight knitting of her brows; but she went on:

“I have consulted Mr Ruddle, who has spoken to the proprietors of a large engineering firm, and they have engaged to take you as a pupil.”

“Oh, Miss Carr!” I cried.

“But understand, Antony, that it is not merely sitting in an office and handling pen and drawing instruments: as I understand, the pupils have to learn to use lathe and tool, so as to thoroughly understand their profession. Shall you mind that?”

“Mind it?” I said. “Do you think I mind dirtying my hands? Why, my father had a regular workshop, where we used to make and mend. Besides, if I learn all that, I can help Mr Hallett.”

“Antony,” she said, in a weary, half-annoyed way, “don’t talk to me of Mr Hallett. My dear boy, you must not be a hero-worshipper.”

“I don’t know what a hero-worshipper is,” I said, feeling hurt; “but Mr Hallett has been so good to me that it would be ungrateful if I did not love and respect him.”

The two little spots of colour came in her cheeks again, and there was a strange twitching of her brows.

“Kinder to you than Mr Revitts?” she said softly.

“Oh, he’s not like William Revitts,” I said eagerly. “I can’t quite explain it; he’s so different. I like Revitts, but I always seem to have to teach him. Mr Hallett teaches me, Miss Carr. I think he will be a great man.”

“You foolish boy!” she cried, in a nervous, excited way. “There, then: it is settled. You will go and see Mr Girtley, at his office in Great George Street, Westminster, and you may hid adieu to the printing-office, and make your first start towards being a professional man as soon as ever you like.”

“I – I can never be grateful enough to you, Miss Carr,” I said, in a trembling voice.

“Oh yes, my dear boy, you can. Work on and succeed, and you will more than repay me.”

“Then I shall soon be out of debt,” I said joyfully.

“I hope so, Antony,” she said sadly; “but don’t be too sanguine. – Yes?”

“Mr Lister, ma’am,” said the servant who had entered. “He would be glad if you would see him for a few minutes.”

“Did – did you tell him I was not alone?” said Miss Carr, whose face seemed to have turned cold and stern.

“No, ma’am, I only took his message.”

“Show Mr Lister up,” she said, in a quiet dignified way; and, as the footman left the room – “Go in there, Antony, and wait until Mr Lister has gone. He will not stay long.”

She pointed to the folding-doors that opened into a larger drawing-room, followed me, and pointing to a table covered with books, returned, leaving the door ajar.

The various illustrated books were no little attraction, but the thought of becoming an engineer, and perhaps being of service to Mr Hallett, kept me from looking at them, and the next moment I heard the little drawing-room door open, and Mr Lister’s voice, every word being perfectly audible.

“Ah, my dear Miriam!” he exclaimed; “why, my dear girl, you look quite pale.”

I felt very guilty, and as if I were listening purposely to the words passing in the next room; so, taking up a book, I tried to read it, but in spite of my efforts every word came plain and clear, and I heard all.

“I have been a little unwell,” said Miss Carr quietly.

“My poor girl!” he said tenderly. “Ah, you have been away too much! Miriam, dear, I want you to listen to me to-day. When am I to make you my prisoner, and keep you from these errant ways?”

There was no reply, and a dead silence seemed to fall.

“Why, Miriam, darling,” said Mr Lister, in a tender voice, “you are more unwell than I thought for; why not have advice?”

“No, no,” she said hastily. “I am quite well, indeed, John.”

“Then why are you so cold and strange and distant? Have I offended you, darling?”

“Oh no, John; indeed, no.”

“I could not visit you more frequently, Miriam. I could not join you abroad, for, as you know, my circumstances are only moderate, and I have to keep very, very close to the business. Ruddle does not spare me much. Are you annoyed because you think I slight you?”

“Oh no, no, John – indeed no.”

“Yes, that is it,” he cried; “you think I ought to have come down when you were staying at Rowford.”

“Can you not believe me, John,” she said coldly, “when I tell you that there are no grounds for such a charge? You ought to know me better now.”

“I do know you better, my own, my beautiful darling,” he cried passionately; “but you drive me nearly mad. We have been engaged now so many weary months, and yet I seem to occupy no warmer position in your heart than when I first met you. It is dreadful!”

I heard him get up and walk about the room, while she sat perfectly silent.

“You rebuff me,” he cried angrily. “You are cold and distant; my every advance is met by some chilly look. Good heavens! Miriam, are we engaged to be man and wife, or not?”

“You are unjust, John, in your anger,” said Miss Carr in her low, sweet voice. “I do not rebuff you, and I am never intentionally cold. Indeed, I try to meet you as the man who is to be my husband.”

“And lover?” he said, with an almost imperceptible sneer.

“As my husband,” she said quietly; “a holier, greater title far than that of lover. We are not girl and boy, John Lister, and I do not think that you would love and respect me the more for acting like some weak, silly school-girl, who does not know her own mind.”

“She would at least be warmer in her love.”

“But not nearly so lasting,” said Miss Carr, in a low, almost pathetic voice. “I look upon our engagement as so sacred a thing that I think we ought not to hurry on our marriage as you wish. Besides, was it not understood that we should wait awhile?”

“Yes; that was when some tattling fool told you about my losses over that race, and I suppose made out that I was in a hurry to win the heiress, so as to make ducks and drakes of her money.”

“You hurt me,” she said softly; “no one ever hinted at such a degrading idea.”

“Just when a fellow had gone into the thing for once in a way. Of course I was unlucky, and a good job too. If I had won I might have been tempted to try again. Now I have done with racing and betting and the rest of it for ever.”

“I had not thought of that affair, John, when I spoke as I did. I promised you I would forget it, and I had forgotten it, believe me.”

“Oh yes, of course,” he said bitterly.

“I am speaking frankly and openly to you, John,” continued Miss Carr gently; “and I want you to think as I do, that, in taking so grave a step as that which joins two people together for life, it should be taken only as one makes a step from which there is no recall.”

“Miriam!” he exclaimed, and he seemed to stop short in front of her, “I am a hot, impetuous fellow, and I love you passionately, as you know, and have known since the day when first we met. Have I ever given up the pursuit?”

“No,” she said, half-laughingly. “You did not let me rest, nor did our friends, until we were engaged.”

“Of course not. There, come now, you look more like your own dear self. I want to ask you a question.”

“Yes, John. What is it?”

He cleared his voice and hesitated, but only to speak out firmly at last.

“Do you think – have you ever thought me such a cur that I wanted you for the sake of your money?”

“John, this is the second time that you have brought up my fortune to-day. There is no need to answer such a question.”

“But I beg – I desire – I insist upon knowing,” he cried passionately.

“You have your answer in the fact that you are standing before me talking as you are. If I believed for an instant that you had such sordid thoughts, our engagement would be at an end. I would sooner give you the money than be your wife.”

“Of course, yes: of course, my own dear, noble girl!” he cried excitedly. “Then why all this waiting – why keep me at arm’s length? Come now, darling, let us settle it at once.”

“No, John,” she said calmly. “I cannot yet consent.”

“Your old excuse,” he cried, striding up and down the room.

“I never held out hopes to you that it would be soon,” she replied; and I felt that she must be looking at him wistfully.

“But why – why all this waiting, dear?” he said, evidently struggling with his anger, and striving to speak calmly.

“I have told you again and again, dear John, my sole reason.”

“And what is that?” he said bitterly; “it must have been so trifling that I forget it.”

“You do not forget it, indeed,” she said tenderly. “I ask you to wait, because I wish, when I marry you, to be sure that I am offering you a true and loving wife.”

“Oh, if that’s all,” he said laughingly, “I’m satisfied as you are; and on my soul, Miriam, I wish you had not a penny, so that all ideas of self-interest might be set aside!”

“They are set aside, dear John,” she said calmly.

“Well then, love, let there be an end to this miserable waiting and disappointment. If I did not know thoroughly your sweet disposition, and that you are so far above all silly coquettish ways, I should say that you were trifling with me, to make me more eager for the day.”

“You know me better.”

“I do, my darling,” he said in a low impassioned voice, which I heard quite plainly, though I had gone to the window and was looking out into the street. “Then let us settle it at once. I am in your hands, Miriam, as I have been from the day I first set eyes upon you. At present I am wretched – miserable – my whole thoughts are of you, and I feel at times half-mad – that I cannot wait. Do you wish to torture me?”

“No.”

“Then be my dear honoured wife in a week’s time – a fortnight? What, still shaking your head? Well, then, there: I am the most patient of lovers – in a month from to-day?”