seemed to do so, that I could not but tell you this as I
have told you everything else. I hope I have not annoyed you by doing
so."

"Oh, no; not at all."

"It does make me a little sad to think that I shall never be my own
master."

"Never, Mr. Wilkinson!" Had Arthur but known it, there was balm,
there was sympathy in this word. Had his intellect been as sharp as
his feelings, he would have known it. But it passed him unperceived,
as it had fallen from her unawares: and she said no other word that
could encourage him. If he was cold, she at least would be equally
so.

"Certainly not during my mother's life; and you know how good ground
we have for hoping that her life will be long. And then there are
my sisters. My duty to them will be the same as to my mother, even
though, as regards them, I may not be tied down as I am with regard
to her."

"We cannot have everything here," said Adela, trying to smile. "But I
am sure I need not teach you that."

"No, we cannot have everything." And Arthur thought that, in spite of
the clerical austerity which he was about to assume, he should very
much like to have Adela Gauntlet.

"It will make you happy to know that you are making your mother
happy, and the dear girls--and--and I have no doubt you will very
soon get used to it. Many clergymen, you know, think that they ought
not to marry."

"Yes; but I never made up my mind to that."

"No, perhaps not; but now perhaps you will think of it more
seriously."

"Indeed, I used to have an idea that a parish clergyman should be a
married man. There are so many things which he can do better when he
has a woman to assist him who thinks exactly as he thinks."

"You will have your sisters, you know. Both Mary and Sophia were
always active in the parish, and Jane and Fanny have their school."

"Yes;" and he uttered a gentle sigh as he paused before he answered
her. "But it is not quite the same thing, Adela. I love my sisters
dearly; but one always longs to have one heart that shall be entirely
one's own."

And had he come over to tell her this in the same breath with which
he informed her that marriage was a privilege quite beyond his reach?
What did he think of her, or of what did he imagine that she was
made? There was cruelty in it, of which Adela became immediately
conscious, and which she could hardly help wishing to resent. He had
performed the object of his visit; why did he not leave her? He had
made himself thorou