man, even if
Helen were to be thought of by a poor fellow like me. I have no vague
dreams about the future: my hopes are clear and definite. I want a
career carved by my own industry, my own taste: I want--above all
things, I want--the wife of whom I am always thinking."

"And who is she, my poor boy?"

"You know very well, Georgy," I returned, throwing myself beside her and
gazing up into her face. "Since I was a little fellow in Belfield, and
used to look out of the school-room window with Jack Holt, and see you
going past the church with your red jacket and your curls on your
shoulders, I have had just one dream of the girl I could love so well
that I could die for her. I used to lie on the hilltop then and fancy
myself a bold knight on a white steed who should gallop down those
sunshiny streets and seize you in his arms, raise you to the saddle and
carry you away into Fairyland to live with him for ever. My longing has
not changed: I want the same thing still."

"But when I was to marry Jack you did not seem to mind," said Georgina,
looking at me with that new pensiveness she had learned of late.

"You knew my heart very little. When Jack told me that you were still
free, I hated myself, my joy, my renewal of hope, seemed so
contemptibly little in contrast with his great despair. I would not have
wronged him. God knows, I pity him when I remember what he has lost!
Still, I too loved you as a child: I never had it in my power to serve
you, but I had no other thought but you. Why may it not be, dear? Who
can love you better than I do? Even although I am not rich, who will
take better care of you than I shall? I am sure you love me a little. Do
not put the feeling by, but think of it: do not deny it--let it have its
chance."

She rose with an absent air. "We must go on," she said dreamily; and I
helped her over the stile, and we walked slowly through the wood. She
leaned upon my arm, but her face was downcast, and her broad hat
concealed it from me.

"I wish," I said after a time, "you would let me know some of those
thoughts."

She looked up at me pale but smiling. "Do you know, Floyd," she
murmured, "I do think you could make me happy if anybody could."

"Promise me that I may have the chance. End now, Georgy, all your
doubts, all my fears. You will be happier so."

"But we should be poor!" she cried sharply. "I could not be contented to
marry a poor man. You may be clever, Floyd--I do not know much about