presses his lips gently to my forehead; it is a rare thing this kiss, as it is but seldom he caresses me, knowing my antipathy to any demonstrative attentions; but now my evident affliction removes a barrier. "I want you to marry me--at once." I breathe rather than speak, my hasty running and my excitement having wellnigh stifled me. "You will, will you not? You must. I will not stay here a moment longer than I can help. You said once you wished to marry me in June; you must wish it still." "I do," he answers, calmly, but his arms tighten round me, and his face flushes. "I will marry you when and where you please. Do you mean to-morrow?--next week?--when?" "Next month; early next month. I will be ready then. You must tell papa so this evening, and take me away soon. I will show them I will not stay here to be tyrannized over and tormented." I burst into tears, and bury my face in his coat. "You shall not stay an hour longer, if you don't wish it," returns my lover, rather unsteadily. "Come with me now, and I will take you to my sister's, and will marry you to-morrow." "Oh, no, no," I say, recoiling from him; "not that; I did not mean that. Next month will be soon enough. It was only they insisted on my going to Qualmsley, and I was determined I would not." "It is disgraceful your being made wretched in this way," exclaims Marmaduke, wrathfully. "Tell me what has vexed you?" He is not aware of the Misses Vernons' existence. "Where is Qualmsley?" "It is a horrible place, in Yorkshire, where nobody lives, except my aunts. They want me to go to stay there next week for a month. The hateful old things wrote inviting Dora, and when she refused to go papa insisted on victimizing me in her place. If you only knew Aunt Martha and Aunt Priscilla, you would understand my abhorrence--my detestation--of them. They are papa's sisters--the very image of him--and tread and trample on one at every turn. I would rather die than go to them. I would far rather marry you." I hardly guess the significance of my last words until I see my lover whiten and wince in the twilight. "Of course I don't mean that," I say, confusedly, "I only---" But, as I don't at all feel sure what it is I do mean, I break down here ignominiously and relapse into awkward silence. "Of course not," he answers. "I quite understand." But his voice has lost all its enthusiasm, and somehow his words drag. "Had you not better come back to the house, Phyllis? You will catch cold without your hat and in that light dress." I am clothed in white muslin, a little open at the throat, and with my arms half bare. A piece of blue ribbon defines my waist, a bow of the same hue is in my hair; the locket that contains his face is round my neck; a great crimson rose lies upon my bosom. "I am not cold," I reply: 

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