"

"You're welcome to the little there are," I blurted out; "you have none
of your own. Mary, shall I take you to your father?"

She pushed away my outstretched hand and hurried from the room; and he
went out also after bestowing upon me an oath which I could hear him
repeat as he sought his hat and cloak in the hall. I stood there without
a word. My heart had seemed to drop within me as a coal fire burnt to
ashes falls together in a grate. The warmth that kept it alive had gone
out suddenly. But it smouldered yet, and when I went to meet her a few
evenings afterwards I had determined to gather courage and speak to her
once for all. I walked mechanically through the streets between the Hall
and Doctors' Commons, where she had gone on a visit, and was just
turning by the old garden beyond the Proctors' College when I heard
voices close to me, and looking up, saw her walking with _him_, clinging
to his arm, looking into his face. I hesitated for a moment, and they
saw me. "Good-night!" said she in a formal voice as she clutched his arm
tighter, and they both passed on.

So all was over. It was many weeks before I went again to see her
father. It might have been many more. I think I should never have gone
again but for my own father saying to me, "Dick, my son, I can see and
feel for you too, but bear up; you are no boy now, you know. And I had
set my heart on it too; so had our old friend. He wants you to go and
see him, Dick, to help him make up his quarterly account, as you used to
do. Perhaps she'll tire of this popinjay--and, when she comes to her
senses--"

"Or when he deserts her," I interrupted bitterly.

The dear old man said no more, but pressed my hand--his other hand upon
my shoulder. "Go and see our old friend," he repeated presently.

I went--taking care to avoid the familiar sitting-room and to go only to
the office. There her father sat, looking strangely worn and anxious,
but he rose to greet me.

He was pleased to see me. I could see that by the smile that brought
something of the old look back upon his face; but his voice shook as he
told me that at the first rumour of active service the pompous alderman
had bought the captain off, and that now he had all his time to dangle
after Mary. It had broken him, he said; he was not the man he had been.
His accounts confused him, and his cash-balance was short. He was going
that very night to see an old cousin, to ask if she would take charge of
Mary for