ve done. But as it has gone so far, I cannot let you leave me in
uncertainty. It is not necessary that I should keep you waiting. In
this matter I do know my own mind. Dear Bernard, indeed it cannot be
as you have proposed."

She spoke in a low voice, and in a tone that had in it something of
almost imploring humility; but, nevertheless, it conveyed to her
cousin an assurance that she was in earnest; an assurance also that
that earnest would not readily be changed. Was she not a Dale? And
when did a Dale change his mind? For a while he sat silent by her;
and she too, having declared her intention, refrained from further
words. For some minutes they thus remained, looking down into the
ha-ha. She still kept her old position, holding her hands clasped
together over her knees; but he was now lying on his side, supporting
his head upon his arm, with his face indeed turned towards her, but
with his eyes fixed upon the grass. During this time, however, he was
not idle. His cousin's answer, though it had grieved him, had not
come upon him as a blow stunning him for a moment, and rendering him
unfit for instant thought. He was grieved, more grieved than he had
thought he would have been. The thing that he had wanted moderately,
he now wanted the more in that it was denied to him. But he was able
to perceive the exact truth of his position, and to calculate what
might be his chances if he went on with his suit, and what his
advantage if he at once abandoned it.

"I do not wish to press you unfairly, Bell; but may I ask if any
other preference--"

"There is no other preference," she answered. And then again they
were silent for a minute or two.

"My uncle will be much grieved at this," he said at last.

"If that be all," said Bell, "I do not think that we need either of
us trouble ourselves. He can have no right to dispose of our hearts."

"I understand the taunt, Bell."

"Dear Bernard, there was no taunt. I intended none."

"I need not speak of my own grief. You cannot but know how deep it
must be. Why should I have submitted myself to this mortification had
not my heart been concerned? But that I will bear, if I must bear
it--" And then he paused, looking up at her.

"It will soon pass away," she said.

"I will accept it at any rate without complaint. But as to my uncle's
feelings, it is open to me to speak, and to you, I should think, to
listen without indifference. He has been kind to us both, and loves
us two ab