of the hill.

Here Mr. Hammond insisted that Mary should rest at least long enough to
take a cup of tea. She was very white and tired. She had been profoundly
agitated, and looked on the point of fainting, although she protested
that she was quite ready to walk on.

'You are not going to walk another step,' said Hammond. 'While you are
taking your tea I will get you a carriage.'

'Indeed, I had rather hurry on at once,' urged Mary. 'We are so late
already.'

'You will get home all the sooner if you obey me. It is your duty to
obey me now,' said Hammond, in a lowered voice.

She smiled at him, but it was a weak, wan little smile, for that descent
in the wind and the fog had quite exhausted her. Mr. Hammond took her
into a snug little parlour where there was a cheerful fire, and saw her
comfortably seated in an arm chair by the hearth, before he went to look
after a carriage.

There was no such thing as a conveyance to be had, but the Windermere
coach would pass in about half an hour, and for this they must wait. It
would take them back to Grasmere sooner than they could get there on
foot, in Mary's exhausted condition.

The tea-tray was brought in presently, and Hammond poured out the tea
and waited upon Lady Mary. It was a reversal of the usual formula but it
was very pleasant to Mary to sit with her feet on the low brass fender
and be waited upon by her lover. That fog on the brow of Helvellyn--that
piercing wind--had chilled her to the bone, and there was unspeakable
comfort in the glow and warmth of the fire, in the refreshment of a good
cup of tea.

'Mary, you are my own property now, remember,' said Hammond, watching
her tenderly as she sipped her tea.

She glanced up at him shyly, now and then, with eyes full of innocent
wonder. It was so strange to her, as strange as sweet, to know that he
loved her; such a marvellous thing that she had pledged herself to be
his wife.

'You are my very own--mine to guard and cherish, mine to think and work
for,' he went on, 'and you will have to trust me, sweet one, even if the
beginning of things is not altogether free from trouble.'

'I am not afraid of trouble.'

'Bravely spoken! First and foremost, then, you will have to announce
your engagement to Lady Maulevrier. She will take it ill, no doubt; will
do her utmost to persuade you to give me up. Have you courage and
resolution, do you think, to stand against her arguments? Can you hold
to your purpose bravely