e intent on one special toy than he
had ever been before, even as a boy. He was vexed, and felt himself
to be sore at heart. He looked round at her, as she sat silent,
quiet, and somewhat sad upon her pony, and declared to himself that
she was very beautiful,--that she was a thing to be gained if still
there might be the possibility of gaining her. He felt that he really
loved her, and yet he was almost angry with himself for so feeling.
Why had he subjected himself to this numbing weakness? His love
had never given him any pleasure. Indeed he had never hitherto
acknowledged it; but now he was driven to do so on finding it to be
the source of trouble and pain. I think it is open to us to doubt
whether, even yet, Bernard Dale was in love with his cousin; whether
he was not rather in love with his own desire. But against himself he
found a verdict that he was in love, and was angry with himself and
with all the world.

"Ah, Bell," he said, coming close up to her, "I wish you could
understand how I love you." And, as he spoke, his cousin
unconsciously recognised more of affection in his tone, and less of
that spirit of bargaining which had seemed to pervade all his former
pleas, than she had ever found before.

"And do I not love you? Have I not offered to be to you in all
respects as a sister?"

"That is nothing. Such an offer to me now is simply laughing at me.
Bell, I tell you what,--I will not give you up. The fact is, you do
not know me yet,--not know me as you must know any man before you
choose him for your husband. You and Lily are not alike in this.
You are cautious, doubtful of yourself, and perhaps, also, somewhat
doubtful of others. My heart is set upon this, and I shall still try
to succeed."

"Ah, Bernard, do not say that! Believe me, when I tell you that it
can never be."

"No; I will not believe you. I will not allow myself to be made
utterly wretched. I tell you fairly that I will not believe you. I
may surely hope if I choose to hope. No, Bell, I will never give you
up,--unless, indeed, I should see you become another man's wife."

As he said this, they all turned in through the squire's gate, and
rode up to the yard in which it was their habit to dismount from
their horses.

CHAPTER XIV

John Eames Takes a Walk

John Eames watched the party of cavaliers as they rode away from his
mother's door, and then started upon a solitary walk, as soon as
the noise of the horses' hoofs had pass