hings."

"The schoolboy, when he sits down to make his rhymes, dares not say,
even to his sister, that he hopes to rival Milton; but he nurses such
a hope. The preacher, when he preaches his sermon, does not whisper,
even to his wife, his belief that thousands may perhaps be turned
to repentance by the strength of his words; but he thinks that the
thousand converts are possible."

"And you, though you will not say so, intend to rival Chatham, and to
make your thousand converts in politics."

"I like to hear you laugh at me,--I do, indeed. It does me good to
hear your voice again with some touch of satire in it. It brings back
the old days,--the days to which I hope we may soon revert without
pain. Shall it not be so, dearest?"

Her playful manner at once deserted her. Why had he made this foolish
attempt to be tender? "I do not know," she said, gloomily.

For a few minutes he sat silent, fingering some article belonging to
her which was lying on the table. It was a small steel paper-knife,
of which the handle was cast and gilt; a thing of no great value, of
which the price may have been five shillings. He sat with it, passing
it through his fingers, while she went on with her work.

"Who gave you this paper-cutter?" he said, suddenly.

"Goodness me, why do you ask? and especially, why do you ask in that
way?"

"I asked simply because if it is a present to you from any one, I
will take up something else."

"It was given me by Mr Grey."

He let it drop from his fingers on to the table with a noise, and
then pushed it from him, so that it fell on the other side, near to
where she sat.

"George," she said, as she stooped and picked it up, "your violence
is unreasonable; pray do not repeat it."

"I did not mean it," he said, "and I beg your pardon. I was simply
unfortunate in the article I selected. And who gave you this?" In
saying which he took up a little ivory foot-rule that was folded up
so as to bring it within the compass of three inches.

"It so happens that no one gave me that; I bought it at a stupid
bazaar."

"Then this will do. You shall give it me as a present, on the renewal
of our love."

"It is too poor a thing to give," said she, speaking still more
gloomily than she had done before.

"By no means; nothing is too poor, if given in that way. Anything
will do; a ribbon, a glove, a broken sixpence. Will you give me
something that I may take, and, taking it, may know that your heart
is giv