nerally. "I am free--free
as the winds. Come, will you take me as I am? Have your wish;
sacrifice the world, and prove yourself a true man."

Mr. Slope should have taken her at her word. She would have drawn
back, and he would have had the full advantage of the offer. But
he did not. Instead of doing so, he stood wrapt in astonishment,
passing his fingers through his lank red hair and thinking, as he
stared upon her animated countenance, that her wondrous beauty grew
more wonderful as he gazed on it. "Ha! ha! ha!" she laughed out
loud. "Come, Mr. Slope, don't talk of sacrificing the world again.
People beyond one-and-twenty should never dream of such a thing. You
and I, if we have the dregs of any love left in us, if we have the
remnants of a passion remaining in our hearts, should husband our
resources better. We are not in our premiere jeunesse. The world
is a very nice place. Your world, at any rate, is so. You have all
manner of fat rectories to get and possible bishoprics to enjoy.
Come, confess; on second thoughts you would not sacrifice such
things for the smiles of a lame lady?"

It was impossible for him to answer this. In order to be in any way
dignified, he felt that he must be silent.

"Come," said she, "don't boody with me: don't be angry because I
speak out some home truths. Alas, the world, as I have found it, has
taught me bitter truths. Come, tell me that I am forgiven. Are we
not to be friends?" and she again put out her hand to him.

He sat himself down in the chair beside her, took her proffered hand,
and leant over her.

"There," said she with her sweetest, softest smile--a smile to
withstand which a man should be cased in triple steel, "there; seal
your forgiveness on it," and she raised it towards his face. He
kissed it again and again, and stretched over her as though desirous
of extending the charity of his pardon beyond the hand that was
offered to him. She managed, however, to check his ardour. For one
so easily allured as this poor chaplain, her hand was surely enough.

"Oh, Madeline!" said he, "tell me that you love me--do you--do you
love me?"

"Hush," said she. "There is my mother's step. Our _tete-a-tete_ has
been of monstrous length. Now you had better go. But we shall see
you soon again, shall we not?"

Mr. Slope promised that he would call again on the following day.

"And, Mr. Slope," she continued, "pray answer my note. You have it
in your hand, though I declare during th