"She might," said Richard. "Yes, she might bring the full rich daylight to us, but on her the shadow would fail with a fearful blackness if she linked her destiny with mine. Young man, do you like Edith Hastings, if so, take her yourself and if money----" Arthur here interrupted him with, "I have money of my own, sir; but I have no home at present. I am a student in college. I can do nothing with her there, but--" and his voice sunk almost to a whisper. "Years hence, I hope to have a home, and then, if you are tired of Edith I will take her. Meantime keep her at Collingwood for me. Is it a bargain?" "You are young, I think," said Richard, smiling at Arthur's proposition, and smiling again, when in tones apologetical, as if to be only so old were something of which he ought to be ashamed, Arthur returned, "I am nineteen this month." "And I was thirty, last spring," said Richard. "An old man, you think, no doubt. But to return to Edith Hastings. My heart wants her so much, while my better judgment rebels against it. Will she be greatly disappointed if I refuse?" "Oh, yes, yes," said Arthur, grasping the hand laying on Richard's knee. "I CAN'T go back to her without you. But, Mr. Harrington, before I urge it farther, let me ask as her friend, will she come here as a SERVANT, or an equal." There was an upward flashing of the keen black eyes, a flush upon the high, white forehead, and Richard impatiently stamped upon the floor as he answered proudly, "She comes as an equal, or not at all. She shall be as highly educated and as thoroughly accomplished as if the blood of the Harrington's flowed in her veins." "Then take her," and Arthur seemed more anxious than before. "She will do justice to your training. She will be wondrously beautiful. She will grace the halls of Collingwood with the air of England's queen. You will not be ashamed of her, and who knows but some day--" Arthur began to stammer, and at last managed to finish with, "There is NOT such a vast difference in your ages. Twenty-one years is nothing when weighed against the debt of gratitude she will owe you--" "There, I've made a fool of myself," he thought, as he saw the forehead tie itself up in knots, and the corners of the mouth twitch with merriment. "By that last speech you've proved how YOUNG and romantic you are," answered Richard. "Winter and spring go not well together. Edith Hastings will never be my wife. But she shall come to Collingwood. I will return with you and bring her back myself." Ringing the bell for Victor, he bade him see that breakfast was served at once, saying that he was going with his friend to Albany. "Without ME?" asked Victor in much surprise, and Richard replied,