he wins enough to ennoble his whole life. You
have spoken, dearest, of your place in my
estimation. Judge what that place is—when I
implore you on my knees, to let the cure of
your poor wounded heart be my care. Rachel!
will you honour me, will you bless me, by being
my wife?"

By this time I should certainly have decided
on stopping my ears, if Rachel had not encouraged
me to keep them open, by answering him
in the first sensible words I had ever heard fall
from her lips.

"Godfrey!" she said, "you must be mad!"

"I never spoke more reasonably, dearest—in
your interests, as well as in mine. Look for a
moment to the future. Is your happiness to be
sacrificed to a man who has never known how you
feel towards him, and whom you are resolved
never to see again? Is it not your duty to yourself
to forget this ill-fated attachment? and is
forgetfulness to be found in the life you are
leading now? You have tried that life, and you
are wearying of it already. Surround yourself
with nobler interests than the wretched
interests of the world. A heart that loves and
honours you; a home whose peaceful claims
and happy duties win gently on you day by
day—try the consolation, Rachel, which is to
be found there! I don't ask for your love—I
will be content with your affection and regard.
Let the rest be left, confidently left, to your
husband's devotion, and to Time that heals even
wounds as deep as yours."

She began to yield already. Oh, what a
bringing-up she must have had! Oh, how
differently I should have acted in her place!

"Don't tempt me, Godfrey," she said; "I
am wretched enough and reckless enough as it
is. Don't tempt me to be more wretched and
more reckless still!"

"One question, Rachel. Have you any
personal objection to me?"

"I! I always liked you. After what you
have just said to me, I should be insensible
indeed if I didn't respect and admire you as well."

"Do you know many wives, my dear Rachel,
who respect and admire their husbands? And
yet they and their husbands get on very well.
How many brides go to the altar with hearts
that would bear inspection by the men who
take them there? And yet it doesn't end
unhappily—somehow or other the nuptial
establishment jogs on. The truth is, that women
try marriage as a Refuge, far more numerously
than they are willing to admit; and, what is
more, they find that marriage has justified their
confidence in it. Look at your own case once
again. At your age, and with your attractions,
is it possible for you to sentence yourself to
a single life? Trust my knowledge of the
world—nothing is less possible. It is merely
a question of time. You may marry some other
man, some years hence. Or you may marry
the man, dearest, who is now at your feet, and
who prizes your respect and admiration above
the love of any other woman on the face of the
earth."

"Gently, Godfrey! you are putting
something into my head which I never thought of
before. You are tempting me with a new
prospect, when all my other prospects are closed
before me. I tell you again, I am miserable
enough and desperate enough, if you say
another word, to marry you on your own terms.
Take the warning, and go!"

"I won't even rise from my knees, till you
have said yes!"

"If I say yes you will repent, and I shall
repent, when it is too late!"

"We shall both bless the day, darling, when
I pressed, and when you yielded."

"Do you feel as confidently as you speak?"

"You shall judge for yourself. I speak from
what I have seen in my own family. Tell me
what you think of our household at Frizinghall.
Do my father and mother live unhappily
together?"

"Far from it—so far as I can see."

"When my mother was a girl, Rachel (it is no
secret in the family) she had loved as you love
—she had given her heart to a man who was
unworthy ot her. She married my father,
respecting him, admiring him, but nothing more.
Your own eyes have seen the result. Is there
no encouragement in it for you and for me?"*
* See Betteredge's Narrative. Chapter viii. page 147.

"You won't hurry me, Godfrey?"

"My time shall be yours."

"You won't ask me for more than I can
give?"

"My angel! I only ask you to give me
yourself."

"Take me!"

In those two words, she accepted him!

He had another burst—a burst of unholy
rapture this time. He drew her nearer and
nearer to him till her face touched his; and
then——No! I really cannot prevail upon myself
to carry this shocking disclosure any farther.
Let me only say, that I tried to close my eyes
before it happened, and that I was just one
moment too late. I had calculated, you see,
on her resisting. She submitted. To every
right-feeling person of my own sex, volumes
could say no more.

Even my innocence in such matters began to
see its way to the end of the interview now.
They understood each other so thoroughly by
this time, that I fully expected to see them
walk off together, arm in arm, to be married.
There appeared, however, judging by Mr.
Godfrey's next words, to be one more trifling
formality which it was necessary to observe.
He seated himself—unforbidden this time—
on the ottoman by her side. "Shall I speak to
your dear mother?" he asked. "Or will
you?"

She declined both alternatives.

"Let my mother hear nothing from either of
us, until she is better. I wish it to be kept a
secret for the present, Godfrey. Go now, and
come back this evening. We have been here
alone together quite long enough."