antastic dance
through life. Before him lay only darkness. Jane and he, hand in hand,
could walk through it fearless and undismayed. And her own great love,
shown unashamed in the abandonment of this moment of intense emotion'
made his pulses throb. He whispered again: "Why not?"

For answer she nestled closer. "If only you could love me a little,
little bit?"

"But I do," said Paul hoarsely.

She shook her head and sobbed afresh, and they stood in close embrace
at the end of the room by the door, regardless of the presence of the
old man who sat, his back to them, smoking his pipe and looking, with
his birdlike crook of the neck, meditatively into the fire. "No, no,"
said Jane, at last. "It's silly of me. Forgive me. We mustn't talk of
such things. Neither of us is fit to--and to-night it's not becoming. I
have lost my father and you are only my brother, Paul dear."

Barney Bill broke in suddenly; and at the sound of his voice they moved
apart. "Think over it, sonny. Don't go and do anything rash."

"Don't you think it would be wise for Jane to marry me?"

"Ay--for Jane."

"Not for me?"

"It's only wise for a man to marry a woman what he loves," said Barney
Bill.

"Well?"

"You said, when we was a-driving here, as you are going to live for the
Truth and nothing but the Truth. I only mention it," added the old man
drily.

Jane recovered herself, with a gulp in the throat, and before Paul
could answer said: "We too had a talk to-day, Paul. Remember," her
voice quavered a little--"about carrots."

"You were right in essence," said Paul, looking at her gravely. "But I
should have my incentive. I know my own mind. My affection for you is
of the deepest. That is Truth--I needn't tell you. We could lead a
happy and noble life together."

"We belong to two different social classes, Paul," she said gently,
again sitting in the straight-backed chair by the table.

"We don't," he replied. "I repudiated my claims to the other class this
evening. I was admitted into what is called high society, partly
because people took it for granted that I was a man of good birth. Now
that I've publicly proclaimed that I'm not--and the newspapers will
pretty soon find out all about me now--I'll drop out of that same high
society. I shan't seek readmittance."

"People will seek you."

"You don't know the world," said he.

"It must be mean and horrid."

"Oh, no. It's very just and honourable. I shan't blame it a bit for no