ered herself after this fashion: "You have very little
to thank me for, dear Griffith. I don't exactly downright love you, but
I could not rob you of those unlucky farms, and you refuse to take them
back any way but this; so what can I do? And then, for all I don't love
you, I find I am always unhappy if you are unhappy, and happy when you
are happy; so it comes pretty much to the same thing. I declare I am
sick of giving you pain, and a little sick of crying in consequence.
There, I have cried more in the last fortnight than in all my life
before, and you know nothing spoils one's beauty like crying. And then
you are so good, and kind, and true, and brave; and everybody is so
unjust and so unkind to you, papa and all. You were quite in the right
about the duel, dear. He _is_ an impudent puppy; and I threw dust in
your eyes, and made you own you were in the wrong, and it was a great
shame of me, but it was because I liked you best. I could take liberties
with _you_, dear. And you are wounded for me, and now I have
disinherited you. O, I can't bear it, and I won't. My heart yearns for
you,--bleeds for you. I would rather die than you should be unhappy; I
would rather follow you in rags round the world than marry a prince and
make you wretched. Yes, dear, I am yours. Make me your wife; and then
some day I dare say I shall love you as I ought."

She had never showed her heart to him like this before; and now it
overpowered him. So, being also a little under vinous influence, he
stammered out something, and then fairly blubbered for joy. Then what
does Kate do, but cry for company?

Presently, to her surprise, he was half-way up the turret, coming to
her.

"O, take care! take care!" she cried. "You'll break your neck."

"Nay," cried he; "I must come at you, if I die for it."

The turret was ornamented from top to bottom with short ledges
consisting of half-bricks. This ledge, shallow as it was, gave a slight
foothold, insufficient in itself; but he grasped the strong branches of
the ivy with a powerful hand, and so between the two contrived to get up
and hang himself out close to her.

"Sweet mistress," said he, "put out your hand to me; for I can't take it
against your will this time. I have got but one arm."

But this she declined. "No, no," said she; "you do nothing but torment
and terrify me,--there." And so gave it him; and he mumbled it.

This last feat won her quite. She thought no other man could have got to