n his mind of which he need be ashamed."

"Not when he will use his power to take you out of my arms."

"No, sir; for I am not your property. You speak of dealing with me,
as though I must necessarily belong to you if I did not belong to
him. It is not so."

"Oh, Mary!"

"It is not so. What might be the case I will not take upon myself
to say,--or what might have been. I was yesterday a free woman, and
my thoughts were altogether my own. To-day I am bound to him, and
whether it be for joy or for sorrow, I will be true to him. Now, Mr
Gordon, I will leave you."

"Half a moment," he said, standing between her and the door. "It
cannot be that this should be the end of all between us. I shall go
to him, and tell him what I believe to be the truth."

"I cannot hinder you; but I shall tell him that what you say is
false."

"You know it to be true."

"I shall tell him that it is false."

"Can you bring yourself to utter a lie such as that?"

"I can bring myself to say whatever may be best for him, and most
conducive to his wishes." But as she said this, she was herself aware
that she had told Mr Whittlestaff only on this morning that she had
given her heart to John Gordon, and that she would be unable to keep
her thoughts from running to him. She had implored him to leave her
to herself, so that the memory of her love might be spared. Then,
when this young man had been still absent, when there was no dream
of his appearing again before her, when the consequence would be
that she must go forth into the world, and earn her own bitter
bread alone,--at that moment she knew that she had been true to the
memory of the man. What had occurred since, to alter her purpose
so violently? Was it the presence of the man she did love, and the
maidenly instincts which forbade her to declare her passion in his
presence? Or was it simply the conviction that her promise to Mr
Whittlestaff had been twice repeated, and could not now admit of
being withdrawn? But in spite of her asseverations, there must have
been present to her mind some feeling that if Mr Whittlestaff would
yield to the prayer of John Gordon, all the gulf would be bridged
over which yawned between herself and perfect happiness. Kimberley?
Yes, indeed; or anywhere else in the wide world. As he left the room,
she did now tell herself that in spite of all that she had said she
could accompany him anywhere over the world with perfect bliss. How
well had he spoken for hi