of their little garden."]

Then Henry Hatton made his heart speak words which no one could have
doubted. He was a natural orator, and he was moved by an impetuous
longing, that feared nothing but its own defeat. He told Lugur all that
he had told himself, and the warmth and eagerness of his pleading
touched the man deeply, though he did not interrupt him until he said,
"I am going for a year's travel, and I want to marry Lucy, and take her
with me."

Then he asked, "Have you spoken to my daughter on the subject of
marriage?"

"I want your permission in order to gain hers."

"Does she know that you love her?"

"I have not told her so. I ask that you take me now to your home that I
may speak to her this hour."

Lugur made no further remark, until they reached the schoolmaster's
house. Then he said, "There is a light, as you may see, in the
right-hand room; Lucy is there. Tell her I gave you permission to call
on her. Leave the door of the room open; I shall be in the room opposite
to it. You may remain an hour if you wish to do so. Leave at once if
your visit troubles Lucy." Then with a cold smile he added, "I am her
only cicerone, you see. She has no mother. You will remember _that_, Mr.
Hatton." As he spoke, he was looking for his latch-key and using it.
There was a lamp in the hall, and he silently indicated the door of the
room in which Lucy was sitting. At the same moment he opened a door
opposite and struck a light. Seeing Hatton waiting, he continued, "You
have already introduced yourself--go in--the door is open."

He stood still a moment and listened to the faint flutter of Lucy's
movement, and the joyous note in her voice as she welcomed her lover.
With a sigh, he then turned to a table piled with papers and slates and
apparently gave himself up to the duty they entailed.

In the meantime Harry had seated himself by the side of Lucy, and was
telling her in the delicious, stumbling patois of love all that was in
his heart. She was bewilderingly beautiful; all his thoughts of her had
been far below this intimate observation. Not that he analyzed or
tabulated her charms--that would have been like pulling a rose to
pieces. He only knew that her every glance and word and movement
revealed a new personal grace. He only felt that her dress so daintily
plain and neat and her simplicity and natural candor were the visible
signs of a clear and limpid nature such as gods and men must love.

It was easy for Harr