“Oh, Evan!” she clasped her hands in terror at the change in him, that was hurrying her she knew not whither, and trembling, held them supplicatingly. “Yes, Rose: you have taught me what love can be. You cannot marry that man.” “But, my honour, Evan! No. I do not love him; for I can love but one. He has my pledge. Can I break it?” The stress on the question choked him, just as his heart sprang to her. “Can you face the world with me, Rose?” “Oh, Evan! is there an escape for me? Think Decide!—No—no! there is not. My mother, I know, looks on it so. Why did she trust me to be with you here, but that she thinks me engaged to him, and has such faith in me? Oh, help me!—be my guide. Think whether you would trust me hereafter! I should despise myself.” “Not if you marry him!” said Evan, bitterly. And then thinking as men will think when they look on the figure of a fair girl marching serenely to a sacrifice, the horrors of which they insist that she ought to know: half-hating her for her calmness—adoring her for her innocence: he said: “It rests with you, Rose. The world will approve you, and if your conscience does, why—farewell, and may heaven be your help.” She murmured, “Farewell.” Did she expect more to be said by him? What did she want or hope for now? And yet a light of hunger grew in her eyes, brighter and brighter, as it were on a wave of yearning. “Take my hand once,” she faltered. Her hand and her whole shape he took, and she with closed eyes let him strain her to his breast. Their swoon was broken by the opening of the door, where Old Tom Cogglesby and Lady Jocelyn appeared. “’Gad! he seems to have got his recompense—eh, my lady?” cried Old Tom. However satisfactorily they might have explained the case, it certainly did seem so. Lady Jocelyn looked not absolutely displeased. Old Tom was chuckling at her elbow. The two principal actors remained dumb. “I suppose, if we leave young people to settle a thing, this is how they do it,” her ladyship remarked. “’Gad, and they do it well!” cried Old Tom. Rose, with a deep blush on her cheeks, stepped from Evan to her mother. Not in effrontery, but earnestly, and as the only way of escaping from the position, she said: “I have succeeded, Mama. He will take what I offer.” “And what’s that, now?” Old Tom inquired. Rose turned to Evan. He bent and kissed her hand. “Call it ‘recompense’ for the nonce,” said Lady Jocelyn. “Do you still hold to your original proposition, Tom?” “Every penny, my lady. I like the young fellow, and she’s a jolly little lass—if she means it:—she’s a woman.” “True,” said Lady Jocelyn. “Considering that fact, you will oblige me by keeping the matter quiet.” “Does she want to try whether the tailor’s a gentleman still, my lady—eh?” “No. I fancy she will have to see whether a certain nobleman may be one.”