gravely, "and I do not think I want to show you the gardens; there are some corners I rather loved; I believe it will hurt a little to say good-bye."

Just then Mr. Barton came into the room, fussy and ill at ease. Mr. Carruthers's face hardened again, and I rose to say good-night.

As he opened the door for me—"Promise you will come down to give me my coffee in the morning," he said.

"Qui vivra verra," I answered, and sauntered out into the hall. He followed me, and watched as I went up the staircase.

Qui vivra verra

"Good-night!" I called, softly, as I got to the top, and laughed a little—I don't know why.

He bounded up the stairs, three steps at a time, and before I could turn the handle of my door he stood beside me.

"I do not know what there is about you," he said, "but you drive me mad. I shall insist upon carrying out my aunt's wish, after all! I shall marry you, and never let you out of my sight—do you hear?"

Oh, such a strange sense of exaltation crept over me—it is with me still! Of course, he probably will not mean all that to-morrow, but to have made such a stiff block of stone rush up-stairs and say this much now is perfectly delightful!

I looked at him up from under my eyelashes. "No, you will not marry me," I said, calmly, "or do anything else I don't like; and now, really, good-night," and I slipped into my room and closed the door. I could hear he did not stir for some seconds. Then he went off down the stairs again, and I am alone with my thoughts!

My thoughts! I wonder what they mean! What did I do that had this effect upon him? I intended to do something, and I did it, but I am not quite sure what it was. However, that is of no consequence. Sufficient for me to know that my self-respect is restored and I can now go out and see the world with a clear conscience.

He has asked me to marry him—and I have said I won't!

Branches Park, [1] Thursday night, November 3. 

Thursday night, November 3.

Thursday night,

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