which they had before sat, she bade him stop and seat himself.

"And now what is it?" he said, as he rolled himself comfortably close
to her side. She told her story, and explained her doubts, and asked
for the revelations of his wisdom. "Are you quite sure about the
propriety of this, Mary?" he said.

"The propriety of what, Walter?"

"Giving up a man who loves you so well, and who has so much to
offer?"

"What was it you said yourself? Sure! Of course I am sure. I am quite
sure. I do not love him. Did I not tell you that there could be no
doubt after what you said?"

"I did not mean that my words should be so powerful."

"They were powerful; but, independently of that, I am quite sure now.
If I could do it myself, I should be false to him. I know that I do
not love him." He was not looking at her where he was lying, but was
playing with a cigar-case which he had taken out, as though he were
about to resume his smoking. But he did not open the case, or look
towards her, or say a word to her. Two minutes had perhaps passed
before she spoke again. "I suppose it would be best that I should
write to him at once?"

"There is no one else, then, you care for, Mary?" he asked.

"No one," she said, as though the question were nothing.

"It is all blank paper with you?"

[Illustration: "It is all blank paper with you?"]

"Quite blank," she said, and laughed. "Do you know, I almost think it
always will be blank."

"By G----! it is not blank with me," he said, springing up
and jumping to his feet. She stared at him, not in the least
understanding what he meant, not dreaming even that he was about to
tell her his love secrets in reference to another. "I wonder what you
think I'm made of, Mary;--whether you imagine I have any affection to
bestow?"

"I do not in the least understand."

"Look here, dear," and he knelt down beside her as he spoke, "it
is simply this, that you have become to me more than all the
world;--that I love you better than my own soul;--that your beauty
and sweetness, and soft, darling touch, are everything to me. And
then you come to me for advice! I can only give you one bit of advice
now, Mary."

"And what is that?"

"Love me."

"I do love you."

"Ay, but love me and be my wife."

She had to think of it; but she knew from the first moment that the
thinking of it was a delight to her. She did not quite understand
at first that her chosen brother might become her lover, with no