'But to go away so far--so far as London?' he urged, with an air of bewilderment. 'The further the better now, Robert.' 'But the idea of making your own livelihood in that awful human wilderness, you and Ellinor, seems so strange--so perilous and unnatural.' 'Why so--don't thousands work?' 'And starve and die of broken hearts!' 'Robert, you are not encouraging.' 'I would that I could be so.' 'We must make the attempt as others do and have done. We are well-nigh penniless now; without Birkwoodbrae and its accessories we could not live alone on the pittance poor papa left us, and here we could not add a penny to it. I don't think I am fit for much, Robert,' continued Mary, sadly and humbly, with tears in her soft, sweet eyes. 'No one will give me a high-class situation, my education has been so very simple, and beyond a little music'--her voice broke fairly now--'and Ellinor's pencil, she is very clever, you know----' 'I wish I could see this infernally grasping cousin of yours!' surmised Robert, angrily and reflectively. 'Don't think of it--I would not accept a favour from his father's son; for that father was--through life--the enemy of mine!' 'Why--and about what?' asked Robert. 'Some quarrel about a lady in their youth, as subalterns, I believe.' 'Oho--the old, old story!' said Robert, gnawing his nether lip, and taking up his hat, but lingering still. 'You will see Ellinor, Robert dear,' said Mary, timidly and pleadingly. 'I can call her from her room--it will be for the last time.' The cloud on young Wodrow's face deepened, as he said, in a low voice, 'No, Mary--thank you--I dare not--would rather not see her again.' 'Why?' asked Mary, taking his hands caressingly between her own. 'All my love for her might--nay, would break out for her with renewed force, for I am in some ways weak and unstable of purpose. Better not--better not--never again--never again,' he muttered, huskily, and Mary kissed him with her eyes full of tears, for just then her heart was very sore indeed. 'Besides, Mary, I have schooled myself for the future.' 'And that _future_, Robert.' 'You will learn in time. Curse that fellow,' he suddenly exclaimed, his eyes flashing, as he referred to Sleath, 'what evil chance brought him among us here? How I can recall his eyes, alternately sleepy and shifty, and the air of would-be high-bred tolerance and boredom with which he condescended to survey us all and everything here!' In the gust of jealous anger that now possessed him, Mary knew that it was useless to urge again that he should see Ellinor, and after making her all offers of assistance and proffers of kindness, he strode suddenly away, muttering to himself the lines of Edmondstoune Aytoun. 'Woman's love is writ in water, Woman's faith is traced in sand, Backwards, backwards let me wander, To the noble northern land.'