‘But why, dear Nell?’ he questioned. ‘We have met again, and we are both free. What objection can there be to our marriage, if _you_ have none? I would not hurry you. You should name your own time, only let us be engaged. I have told you that I can keep you in comfort, and if parting with your parents is an obstacle, I’ll consent to anything you think best. Only don’t send me away without hope. You will take all the spirit out of my life and work if you do. I think your people like me--I don’t anticipate any trouble with them, but the word that is to make me happy must come from _your_ lips, Nell--from yours alone!’ ‘It can never come from them,’ answered Nell sadly. ‘Don’t say that, my little sweetheart of olden days. Oh, Nell, if you only knew, if I could only make you understand how I have kept your image in my heart all these years, how your face has come between me and my duties, till I’ve had to drive it away by sheer force of will. When I found you had come back to Usk, I thought God had sent you expressly for me. Don’t say now, after all my hopes and longings to meet you again--after you have come back from the grave to me, Nell--don’t say, for God’s sake, that it has been all in vain!’ He bowed his head upon his outstretched arm as he spoke, and Nell knew, though she could not see, that he was weeping. ‘What can I say to you, Hugh,’ she began, after a pause. ‘I _do_ love you for all your goodness to me, but not in that way. I cannot be your wife. If you knew me as well as I know myself, you would never ask it, for I am not fit for it, Hugh. I am not worthy.’ The young man raised his head in astonishment. ‘Not worthy? What do you mean? _You_, who are as far above me as the stars in heaven. It is _I_ who have no right to aspire to be your husband--a rough, country clod like me, only, only--I would love you with the best, Nell, if I could but make you believe it.’ ‘I _do_ believe it, Hugh, and I am sorry it should be so, because my love for you is so different from yours. I regard you as a dear friend. I have no other love to give you.’ ‘You care for some other man,’ said Hugh, with the quick jealousy of lovers. ‘You are engaged to be married. Oh, why did you not tell me so before? Why have you let me go on seeing you--talking with you and longing for you, without giving me one hint that you had bound yourself to marry another man? It was cruel of you, Nell--very, very cruel. You might have had more mercy on an unfortunate fellow who has loved you all his life.’ Nell shook her head. ‘But I’m not bound to marry another man; I shall never marry,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Then, why are you so hard on me? Tell me the reason, Nell. There _must_ be a reason for your refusal. You owe me so much for the pain you’ve made me suffer.’