"I don't know. Perhaps bring my father to his senses for one thing; and--who knows?--perhaps you will listen to reason when you see I can't wait for the consent of two egotists--for that is what they both are--that have no real love or pity for you or me." "Ah," said Mary, with a deep sigh, "I see even men have their faults, and I admired them so. They are impatient, selfish." "Yes, if it is selfish to defend one's self against brutal selfishness, I am selfish; and that is better than to be a slave to egotists, and lie down to be trodden on as you would do. Come, Mary, for pity's sake, decide which you love best--your father, who does not care much for you, or me, who adore you, and will give you a life of gratitude as well as love, if you will only see things as they are and always will be, and trust yourself to me as my dear, dear, blessed, adored wife!" "I love you best," said Mary, "and I hope it is not wicked. But I love him too, though he does say 'wait.' And I respect _myself_, and I dare not defy my parent, and I will not marry secretly; that is degrading. And, oh, Walter, think how young I am and inexperienced, and you that are so much older, and I hoped would be my guide and make me better; is it you who tempt me to clandestine meetings that I blush for, and a clandestine marriage for which I should despise myself?" Walter turned suddenly calm, for these words pricked his conscience. "You are right," said he. "I am a blackguard, and you are an angel of purity and goodness. Forgive me, I will never tempt nor torment you again. For pity's sake forgive me. You don't know what men's passions are. Forgive me!" "With all my heart, dear," said Mary, crying gently. He put both arms suddenly round her neck and kissed her wet eyes with a sigh of despair. Then he seemed to tear himself away by a great effort, and she leaned limp and powerless on the gate, and heard his footsteps die away into the night. They struck chill upon her foreboding heart, for she felt that they were parted. CHAPTER X. THE GORDIAN KNOT. Walter, however, would not despair until he had laid the alternative before his father. He did so, firmly but coolly. His father, irritated by the scene with Bartley, treated Walter's proposal with indignant scorn. Walter continued to keep his temper, and with some reluctance asked him whether he owed nothing, not even a sacrifice of his prejudices, to a son who had never disobeyed him, and had improved his circumstances. "Come, sir," said he; "when the happiness of my life is at stake I venture to lay aside delicacy, and ask you whether I have not been a good son, and a serviceable one to you?" "Yes, Walter," said the Colonel, "with this exception." "Then now or never give me my reward." "I'll try," said the grim Colonel; "but I see it will be hard work. However, I'll try and save you from a _mésalliance_." "A _mésalliance_, sir? Why, she is a Clifford." "The deuce she is!" "As much a Clifford as I am."