"Think of you!" he whispered; "that you are all that is beautiful and innocent and good, and that I love you with all my heart." "But I'm not good," faltered Clotilde; "I'm very wicked indeed, and I don't know what will become of me; I don't, really." "Become the woman who will share my fate--the woman I shall make my idol. Clotilde, I never saw one I could sincerely say such things to till we met, and at one bound my heart seemed to go out to meet you. Tell me, my darling, that nothing shall separate us now." "Oh, don't, pray don't speak to me like that," sighed Clotilde. "You don't know--you can't know. What shall I do?" "My dear girl, tell me," he whispered, as he gazed in her wild eyes. "Oh, no, no!" she sobbed. "Not give your confidence to one who loves you as I do?" "I dare not tell you--yes, I will," she cried piteously. "What shall I do? My aunts say that I must marry Mr Elbraham." "Then Millet was right," cried Glen excitedly. "But no, no, my darling, it cannot--it shall not be. Only tell me you love me--that I may care for you--guard you--defend you, and no aunts or Elbrahams in the world shall separate us." "I--I think--I believe I do care for you," she faltered, as she looked up at him in a piteous, pleading way. "Heaven bless you, sweet!" he cried. "Then this very day I will see them. They are women, and will listen to reason. I will plead to them, and you shall help me." "Oh, no, no, no!" cried Clotilde in horrified tones. "That would be to separate us for ever, and--and--and," she sobbed, "I could not bear that." "But surely"--he began. "Oh, you do not know my aunts!" she said excitedly. "It would only be to force me into that dreadful man's arms. We must not let them know. It would be too dreadful." "But, my darling, I think I could show them--" "No, no! Don't show them--don't try to show them, if you love me!" "If I love you!" he said reproachfully. "Then pray--pray keep it secret," she said imploringly, "for the present." "But I must see you--I must talk to you." "Yes, yes; you shall sometimes. But if they thought you spoke to me as you have, I should never see you again." "But what am I to do?" he pleaded. "You may write to me sometimes," she said ingenuously; "and sometimes, perhaps, we may meet." "But--" "Hush! No more now. Oh, pray--pray--pray! Here is sister Marie." Glen did not notice it, but Clotilde recovered her calmness very rapidly, as, after a very awkward time spent in trying hard to keep her from joining the others, Marie found out the way for herself, and snubbed Dick so sharply that he came up with her looking exceedingly rueful, and telling himself that the sacrifice he had made to friendship was far too great, and that he ought to have kept to Clotilde. "Why, Marie," exclaimed the latter, "where have you been?"