turned again to the leases on the bureau, and seemed to
become lost in reflection. In a minute or two, without lifting his eyes,
he said--

'This is more than we can bear, Ted--more than we can bear! Ted, this
will kill me. Not the loss only--the sense of my neglect about the
insurance and everything. Borrow I never will. 'Tis all misery now. God
help us--all misery now!'

Edward did not answer, continuing to look fixedly at the dreary daylight
outside.

'Ted,' the farmer went on, 'this upset of be-en burnt out o' home makes
me very nervous and doubtful about everything. There's this troubles me
besides--our liven here with your cousin, and fillen up her house. It
must be very awkward for her. But she says she doesn't mind. Have you
said anything to her lately about when you are going to marry her?'

'Nothing at all lately.'

'Well, perhaps you may as well, now we are so mixed in together. You
know, no time has ever been mentioned to her at all, first or last,
and I think it right that now, since she has waited so patiently and so
long--you are almost called upon to say you are ready. It would simplify
matters very much, if you were to walk up to church wi' her one of these
mornings, get the thing done, and go on liven here as we are. If you
don't I must get a house all the sooner. It would lighten my mind, too,
about the two little freeholds over the hill--not a morsel a-piece,
divided as they were between her mother and me, but a tidy bit tied
together again. Just think about it, will ye, Ted?'

He stopped from exhaustion produced by the intense concentration of his
mind upon the weary subject, and looked anxiously at his son.

'Yes, I will,' said Edward.

'But I am going to see her of the Great House this morning,' the farmer
went on, his thoughts reverting to the old subject. 'I must know the
rights of the matter, the when and the where. I don't like seeing her,
but I'd rather talk to her than the steward. I wonder what she'll say to
me.'

The younger man knew exactly what she would say. If his father asked her
what he was to do, and when, she would simply refer him to Manston: her
character was not that of a woman who shrank from a proposition she had
once laid down. If his father were to say to her that his son had at
last resolved to marry his cousin within the year, and had given her a
promise to that effect, she would say, 'Mr. Springrove, the houses are
burnt: we'll let them go: trouble no more abou