'Yes; he was over yesterday morning.' Then the gloaming parted as it were to admit of a blink of sunshine, and the dark eyes that were gazing up sought the haggard eyes that were gazing down upon them, and all in a flash. Twilight and the wild sweet solitude around them drew those proud hearts together with a power that yearning nature could not resist. The spell of Love was woven around them. Not one word was uttered: stern silence, weary endless longing, pride, grief, trouble, despair, all were now hushed in one long embrace. Long and wordless as had been estrangement, so swift and wordless the wooing; no syllable was needed to tell what the soul had known. What mattered it in that supreme moment that he was a hunted ruined fugitive--that she was a poor and penniless girl--that they met but to part again? The sweet summer breeze was blowing round them; the trees trembled with gladness overhead; they were young; the world was wide and free. The solemn warning voice of the old clock, for them spoke in vain. When Mistress Dinnage could speak, she whispered on his breast: 'Thou'rt in trouble.' 'In trouble? Yes.' Then, with a reckless laugh, he took her face between his hands, and answered by wild and passionate kisses. 'Nay; thou must speak,' she went on earnestly, and holding back his head with her little hands. 'Kisses will not aid thee, or I would kiss thee till I died. Speak, Master Fleming! Art thou ruined?' 'Ay; stick and stone.' 'I saw it in thy face, only now the love-light covers it. Oh, how canst thou look so glad for my poor love, when thou'rt ruined and _disgraced_? Bethink thee, Master Fleming. Thine old home will go to strangers. Thy sister will share in thy disgrace. Thy father will go in sorrow to the grave. Thou'rt ruined, disgraced, _dishonoured_!' He caught her to his heart, and then held her wildly from him, regarding her with infinite pathos. '_And wilt thou throw me over, Meg?_' Then spoke she anxiously: 'What is it thou mean'st? Speak out to me. Let there be no secrets and no riddling. Dost thou love me _truly_?' Then answered the proud liquid glance of those dark eyes; and whispered the youth low in her ear: 'I would like to kill thee for this questioning! _Truly_, love? Dost thou know Charles Fleming so little, that thou'rt in doubt? that thou canst believe he could wrong the only girl he ever loved? Ruffian, gamester, roysterer though I be, I would keep thee pure as snow--snowdrift. Thou shalt make me a better man, who knows? For thy love I thirst, Meg, and have thirsted long. Now--ruined, an outcast, a fugitive, is the moment I choose to seek thee! Wilt have me, Meg, for better, for worse? Wilt share the fortunes of a sinner? Perilous, comfortless, will be thy lot, love. Wilt thou be my wife?'