Alison's heart, which had lain so dead in her breast, began suddenly to stir and dance with a queer excitement. After all, had she made a mistake? Was Jim really faithful to her after all? But, no; how could she mistake? She had heard the words herself. Oh, yes, of course, Jim was false; and for all he had such an honest voice, and the truest eyes in all the world, Alison must turn her back on him, for she could not doubt the hearing of her own ears and the seeing of her own eyes. "I am sorry," she said, in a cold voice, when Jim had paused and looked eagerly for her answer. "I am sorry, but after all it is a pity that we met to-day, for my letter really told you everything. I don't love you. You wouldn't marry a girl what didn't love you; would you, Jim?" "No, no," said Jim; "no marriage could be happy, it would be a cruel mistake, without love. It seems to me that marriage is a sin, an awful sin, if there aint love to make it beautiful." "Well, then, it would be a sin for us to marry," said Alison. "You can see that for yourself. You need have no scruples, Jim; you can do what you wish." "Well, that is to marry you," said Jim. "Come, Ally, there is a strange thing over you, my dearie, but show me your true self once again. Come, darlin'. Why, you are going nigh to break my heart, the way you are going on." For a moment Alison's belief in what she had herself seen was staggered by Jim's words and the ring of pain in his voice, but only for a moment. The thought of Louisa and the tender way he had looked at her, and her bold words of passion, were too vivid to be long suppressed. Alison's voice took a note of added scorn as she replied: "It's real shabby o' you to worry me when I have given you a straight answer. I don't love you, not a bit, but there's another girl what does. Go to her--go and be happy with her." "What do you mean?" said Jim, turning pale. Alison's eyes were fixed angrily on him. "Oh, I see, I can move you at last," she Said. "You didn't think that I could guess, but I can. Go to Louisa--she loves you well, and I don't--I never did--it was all a big mistake. Girls like me often fancy they love, and then when the thing comes near they see that they don't; marriage is an awful thing without love--it is a sin. Go and marry Louisa; she'll make you a good wife." "Alison," said Jim, "there can be only one explanation to the way you are going on to-day." "And what is that?" she asked. "There must be someone you like better than me." "Of course there is," said Alison, with a shrill laugh. "I love Grannie better than him. I love Dave better," whispered the excited girl wildly, under her breath. "Of course there is," she repeated. "There is nothing for opening the eyes like seeing your true love at last." "Then you _have_ explained matters, and I haven't a word to say," answered Jim, in a haughty voice.