n. At least I
thought it excused my coming. It was the idea of getting Bulstrode to
apply some money to a public purpose--some money which he had thought
of giving me. Perhaps it is rather to Bulstrode's credit that he
privately offered me compensation for an old injury: he offered to give
me a good income to make amends; but I suppose you know the
disagreeable story?"

Will looked doubtfully at Dorothea, but his manner was gathering some
of the defiant courage with which he always thought of this fact in his
destiny. He added, "You know that it must be altogether painful to me."

"Yes--yes--I know," said Dorothea, hastily.

"I did not choose to accept an income from such a source. I was sure
that you would not think well of me if I did so," said Will. Why
should he mind saying anything of that sort to her now? She knew that
he had avowed his love for her. "I felt that"--he broke off,
nevertheless.

"You acted as I should have expected you to act," said Dorothea, her
face brightening and her head becoming a little more erect on its
beautiful stem.

"I did not believe that you would let any circumstance of my birth
create a prejudice in you against me, though it was sure to do so in
others," said Will, shaking his head backward in his old way, and
looking with a grave appeal into her eyes.

"If it were a new hardship it would be a new reason for me to cling to
you," said Dorothea, fervidly. "Nothing could have changed me but--"
her heart was swelling, and it was difficult to go on; she made a great
effort over herself to say in a low tremulous voice, "but thinking that
you were different--not so good as I had believed you to be."

"You are sure to believe me better than I am in everything but one,"
said Will, giving way to his own feeling in the evidence of hers. "I
mean, in my truth to you. When I thought you doubted of that, I didn't
care about anything that was left. I thought it was all over with me,
and there was nothing to try for--only things to endure."

"I don't doubt you any longer," said Dorothea, putting out her hand; a
vague fear for him impelling her unutterable affection.

He took her hand and raised it to his lips with something like a sob.
But he stood with his hat and gloves in the other hand, and might have
done for the portrait of a Royalist. Still it was difficult to loose
the hand, and Dorothea, withdrawing it in a confusion that distressed
her, looked and moved away.

"See