gives her time that she
will back out of it, and is determined to marry her while he has the
chance."

"If that is the case," said Talbot, "it only makes it worse for me. If
she does not love him, and all this is as you say, there is another and a
stronger reason for my refusal to have anything to do with such sacrilege
and sin."

"Oh, Talbot!" said Brooke. He turned his face toward her. It was a face
of agony; there was despair in his look. "Oh, Talbot! I could bear this
trial, any trial, for myself; but for you--for you, Talbot," he
continued, in thrilling tones, "for you I cannot bear it. Think! Can you
not do something?"

Talbot trembled. Her eyes filled with tears. For a time she stood thus
with quivering lips and trembling hands, struggling with her emotion, and
without much success. When she was able at last to speak it was in
tremulous, broken tones.

"Oh, Brooke!" she said, "for your sake I would do anything, anything; but
I cannot, even for your sake, do wrong to others. For you--if it were
myself alone that were concerned--I might be tempted to do an act of
sacrilege--or sin. Ask me to suffer for you, Brooke, and I will suffer:
oh, how gladly! Yes, Brooke," she continued, in a voice that sent a
thrill through all his being--"yes, Brooke, ask me to die for you, or let
the chance arise in which I may die to save you, and I will die. But
do not look at me so, Brooke! do not look at me so! Your face is full of
despair; your look is the look of one whose heart is breaking; and this,
Brooke, this seems worse than death! Be yourself, Brooke! rouse yourself!
Cannot you take refuge in some other thoughts? The very worst of your
songs might rouse you now. Sing, Brooke--sing anything. Talk nonsense,
and save your heart and mine from breaking!"

Brooke turned away, and walked up and down for a few minutes, while he
struggled to regain his composure. The struggle was a severe one, but he
succeeded in assuming an outward calm. He at length returned, and,
placing himself before Talbot, gave that short laugh of his, and said,
with some of his old rattle,

"Well, Talbot lad, you're more than half right. And, as I've always said,
there's nothing like a good song--and I've lots of good songs; but as you
suggest a bad song--in fact, the worst of all my songs--why, I dare say
it wouldn't be a bad idea to sing it. By-the-bye, Talbot, you ought to
learn to sing--at least, to hum tunes. I'll teach you how to whistle, if
you