"Come, then," he answered, and in two minutes more they were walking away together towards the wooded hill through which they had passed with Mary Clifford and Hayward about three weeks before. It is strange how silent people are when they have much to say to each other. For the first quarter of a mile neither Beauchamp nor Isabella said a word; but at length, when the boughs began to wave over their heads, he laid his hand gently upon hers, and said, "I think there can be no misunderstanding, Isabella, as to the words I spoke the night before last. Nor must you think me possessed of a very eager vanity if I have construed your reply as favourable to myself. I know you too well not to feel assured that you would not have so answered me had you been inclined to decide against my hopes. But yet, Isabella, I will not and do not consider you as plighted to me by the words then spoken till--" "That is just what I was going to say," replied Isabella, much to Beauchamp's consternation; "I wished much to speak with you for the very purpose of assuring you that I do not consider you in the least bound by what you then said." She spoke with a great effort for calmness, but there was an anxious trembling of the voice which betrayed her agitation, and in the end she paused for breath. "Hear me, hear me," she said, as she saw Beauchamp about to reply; "since that night every thing has changed. I then thought my father embarrassed, but I did not know him to be ruined. I looked upon you as Mr. Beauchamp; I now find you of a rank superior to our own, one who may well look to rank and fortune in his bride. You, too, were ignorant of the sad state of my poor father's affairs. It is but fair, then, it is but right that I should set you entirely free from any implied engagement made in a moment of generous thoughtlessness; and I do so entirely, nor will ever for a moment think you do aught amiss if you consider better, more wisely, I will say, of this matter; and let all feelings between us subside into kind friendship on your part, and gratitude and esteem upon mine." "You set me free!" said Beauchamp, repeating her words with a smile, "how can you do so? My dear Isabella, this is treacherous of you, to talk of setting me free even while you are binding me heart and spirit to you more strongly than ever. Not one word more upon that subject, my beloved girl. You must not teach me that you think I am so sordid, so pitiful a being to let a consideration of mere fortune, where I have more than plenty weigh with me, for one moment--I am yours, Isabella, if you will take me--yours for ever, loving you deeply, truly, aye, and understanding you fully, too, which so many do not: but it is I who must set you free, dear girl; and I will not ask, I will not receive any promise till you have heard the story of my past life."