at has happened; what has my father done to
you? How ill! how awfully ill you look, my darling!"

"It is nothing; I have not slept," she returned, trying to speak
calmly. "I am unhappy, Hugh, and trouble has made me weak."

"You weak," incredulously; then, as he saw her eyes filling with
tears, "sit down on this smooth white bowlder, and I will place myself
at your feet. Now give me your hand, and tell me what makes you so
unlike yourself this evening."

Margaret obeyed him, for her limbs were trembling, and a sudden mist
seemed to hide him from her eyes; when it cleared, she saw that he was
watching her with unconcealed anxiety.

"What is it, Margaret?" he asked, still more tenderly; "what is
troubling you, my darling?" But he grew still more uneasy when she
suddenly clung to him in a fit of bitter weeping and asked him over
and over again between her sobs to forgive her for making him so
unhappy.

"Margaret," he said at last, very gently but firmly, "I can not have
you say such things to me; forgive you who have been the blessing of
my life; whose only fault is that you love me too well."

"I can not be your blessing now, Hugh;" and then she drew herself from
his embrace. "Do you remember this place, dear? It was on this bowlder
that I was sitting that evening when you found me and asked me to be
your wife. We have had some happy days since then, Hugh, have we not?
and now to-night I have asked you to meet me here, that you may hear
from my lips that I shall never be any man's wife, most certainly not
yours, Hugh--my Hugh--whom I love ten thousand times more than I have
ever loved you before."

A pained, surprised look passed over Hugh's handsome face. It was
evident that he had not expected this. The next moment he gave a short
derisive laugh.

"So my father has made mischief between us; he has actually made you
believe it would be a sin to marry me. My darling, what nonsense; I
know all about your poor mother--many families have this sort of
thing; do you think that ever keeps people from marrying? If we had
known before, as I told my father, well, perhaps it might have made a
difference, but now it is too late, nothing would ever induce me to
give you up, Margaret; in my eyes you are already as bound to me as
though you were my wife. My father has nothing to do with it--this is
between you and me."

"Hugh, listen to me; I have promised Sir Wilfred that I will never
marry you."

"Then your promise must