“Both things _are_ true,” I said. “I cannot love you as, for instance, Mrs. Mervyn loves her husband. She doesn’t mind much where he is. She is quite contented to stay with me while he is at the Vicarage. But the woman who marries you will weary her heart out all the time you are away from her; or, perhaps, you might find a girl who would not. I can only speak for myself. If you love yourself, and I suppose you do—everyone does, more or less—save yourself from me! I cannot love you unselfishly. I should be a burden to you; you would get to hate me.” He took my hands, then took me in his arms—like you used to, father, when you said “Good-night”—and he said to me: “I should prefer to risk hating you, then. Lilia, let us talk sense. You are mine—doubly mine, as your father’s dying gift—I am yours. Only listen to my advice as you listened to his, and we shall be happy in life and death.” Already, under his influence, I began to see things in a different light. What a fool I am! Oh, dear father, what a great, grand thing your patience with me has been! We have talked over everything. He is resolved to let no consideration interfere with his working out of whatever talent he has. So for six months or so, until he has passed certain important examinations, he will work hard in London, and I shall see but little of him. Mr. and Mrs. Mervyn will live here; and for the present the Vicarage will be shut up. This, my dear father, is how your will—that our lives should be united—will be carried out. I will work on faithfully to improve myself, as far as I can be improved. May the end of these months of probation find me more worthy of the great honour of being your daughter and his wife! * * * * * Note in another handwriting: “This ended her diary.” * * * * * Extract from the first column of _The Times_, in the June following the dates of above extracts: “On the 24th inst., at the Parish Church of the Pinewood, F——, Surrey, Hugh Paull, M. D. Lond., M. R. C. S., etc., to Lilia, only child of the late Sir Roderick Pym, Knt.” CHAPTER VIII. DIARY OF HUGH PAULL. _May, 18—._ It is positively terrible! to-day I have been married eleven months, and during that time my work has been at a dead standstill. It is rather my poor darling’s misfortune than her fault. For one with a temperament of passionate concentration such as hers, a totally different up-bringing was called for. School, for instance, and plenty of cheerful, natural society afterwards; she should have mixed freely with girls of her own age, girls like Daisy. This might have balanced her tendency to dwell on one idea to the exclusion of all others.