were both rather silent, pacing thoughtfully up and
down the sheltered walk that bounded the lawn. Gilbert found it
impossible to put on an appearance of hopefulness on this last day. It
was better wholly to give up the attempt, and resign himself to the gloom
that brooded over him, shutting out the future. That airy castle of
his--the villa on the banks of the Thames--seemed to have faded and
vanished altogether. He could not look beyond the Australian journey to
the happy time of his return. The hazards of time and distance bewildered
him. He felt an unspeakable dread of the distance that was to divide him
from Marian Nowell--a dread that grew stronger with every hour. He was
destined to suffer a fresh pang before the moment of parting came. Marian
turned to him by-and-by with an earnest anxious face, and said,--

"Gilbert, there is something which I think I ought to say to you before
you go away."

"What is that, my darling?"

"It is rather hard to say. I fear it will give you pain. I have been
thinking about it for a long time. The thought has been a constant
reproach to me. Gilbert, it would be better if we were both free; better
if you could leave England without any tie to weigh you down with
anxieties when you are out yonder, and will have so much occasion for
perfect freedom of mind."

"Marian!"

"O, pray, pray don't think me ungrateful or unmindful of your goodness to
me. I am only anxious for your happiness. I am not steady enough, or
fixed enough, in my mind. I am not worthy of all the thought and care you
have given me."

"Marian, have I done anything to forfeit your love?"

"O no, no."

"Then why do you say these things to me? Do you want to break my heart?"

"Would it break your heart if I were to recall my promise, Gilbert?"

"Yes, Marian," he answered gravely, drawing her suddenly to him, and
looking into her face with earnest scrutinising eyes; "but if you do not
love me, if you cannot love me--and God knows how happy I have been in
the belief that I had won your love long ago--let the word be spoken. I
will bear it, my dear, I will bear it."

"O no, no," she cried, shocked by the dead whiteness of his face, and
bursting into tears. "I will try to be worthy of you. I will try to love
you as you deserve to be loved. It was only a fancy of mine that it would
be better for you to be free from all thoughts of me. I think it would
seem very hard to me to lose your love. I don't think I could be