"Yes; Luke," he replied, smiling, as he took her hand in his. "Who did you think it was?" "I--I--didn't know; I wanted to get home quickly," she faltered. "I did not know it was you." "I know that," he said, drawing her hand through his arm, "or else you would have stopped, wouldn't you?" "Why, of course, Luke," she said, smiling in his face, and with a calm feeling of rest and protection coming over her disturbed spirit. "I'm glad I caught you," he said. "Let's walk slowly, for I've a great deal to say to you before you go in." "But, first of all, tell me, Luke, dear," she cried eagerly, "is the appointment confirmed?" "No." "No? Not confirmed? Then, that wicked old Bone--" "That wicked old Bone of contention," he said, laughingly taking her up, "has had very little to do with it. At one time I thought that it would be very cruel to take his post, but I do not think so now." "But not confirmed, Luke?" she cried, stopping short and clinging to his arm, the picture of bitter disappointment. "Why, this is the meaning, then, of the opposition uncle spoke of yesterday. Who has dared to stop you from having the school?" "You," said Luke, as he gazed admiringly in her animated face. "I, Luke? I?" she exclaimed, in a puzzled way. "Well, it is through you, dear," he said, smiling. "But I have done nothing, Luke," she cried. "You are teasing me! Has the meeting taken place?" "Yes; I have just come from it." "Well? Mr Bone was there I know, for he gave the boys a holiday, so that he might come." "Yes, he was there, evidently looking upon me as the greatest enemy he had in the world till he heard me decline the post." "You?--you declined the post, Luke?" "Yes, I declined the post." "And you told me you loved me," she said, reproachfully, as she drew back. "As I do with all my heart," he cried, taking her hand, and drawing it through his arm once more. "Sage, dear, it is because I love you so well that I have declined to take the school." "When it was so near," she cried; and her tears seemed to have stolen into her voice. "And now you will go and take a school ever so far away. Oh, Luke," she cried, piteously, "it is too bad!" "Hush, little one," he said, firmly. "It is not like you to talk like that. I shall not take a school far away, though I shall have to leave you. Sage, dear, I have felt that I must give up present pleasure for a future joy." "I--I--don't understand you," she cried; "your talk is all a puzzle to me." "Is it, dear? There, it shall not be long. You know what your uncle said to me the other day?" "Oh, yes, Luke; but I don't think he quite meant it." "I am sure he did mean it," he replied; "and he is quite right. For the past year I have been learning lessons of self-denial, and been taught to place the schoolmaster's duty above questions of a pecuniary kind; but your uncle has placed my position in a practical light, and, Sage, dear, it is as if all the past teaching has been undone."