“My husband destroy his health to support my family!--is this the prospect of happiness you would offer me?--are these the arguments you would bring forward to induce me to agree?” was the reply. “No, Arthur, I can never be your wife; you must from this moment forget that such an idea has crossed your mind.” “But, Kate, only hear me!----” he exclaimed passionately. “I have already heard too much for your happiness, or for my own,” was the mournful reply; then, by a powerful effort resuming her usual manner, she exclaimed, “Come, no more of this folly, our paths in life lie separate; it is inevitable--therefore repining becomes worse than useless; we are not boy and girl, to stand rehearsing romantic love-scenes together; let us rejoin the others.” For a moment Hazlehurst remained silently gazing on the cold, immovable expression of her features; then, coming close to her, he said in a low, hoarse whisper, “I read your heart, and perceive the wickedness, for such it is, you contemplate. I will give you till to-morrow morning to reflect on what has passed between us; if then you adhere to your determination, I leave you to the fate you have chosen!” and as he uttered the last words, he turned and quitted her. Kate Marsden gazed after him with the same cold expression of defiance on her features till his retreating figure became no longer visible, then, sinking back upon the rustic bench, she covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly. CHAPTER VII.--WHEREIN SYMPTOMS OF HARRY’S COURTSHIP BEGIN TO APPEAR ON A STORMY HORIZON. The humours of a picnic have been too often described to need repetition; suffice it to say, that the picnic in question was decidedly a favourable specimen of its class. Of course everybody voted it to be the summit of human felicity, to sit in an uncomfortable position upon something never intended for a seat, beside a table-cloth spread upon the grass, which, being elastic and uneven, caused everything that should have remained perpendicular to assume a horizontal attitude. Of course, when the inevitable frog hopped across the table-cloth, and, losing its presence of mind on finding itself so unexpectedly launched into fashionable life, sought refuge in the pigeon-pie, the ladies screamed little picturesque screams, which were increased twentyfold when Tom Hazlehurst fished it out with a table-spoon, and surreptitiously immersed it in the jug of beer, which liquid he artfully incited Mr. Crane to pour out, thereby landing the frog, decidedly inebriated and most uncomfortably sticky, upon the elaborately embroidered shirt-front of Horace D’Almayne. Of course the salt and the sugar had fraternized, and the cayenne had elicited new and striking effects by mingling indiscriminately with things in general, and the sweets in particular; and of course all these shocking disasters irritated the few and delighted the many, and added immensely to the liveliness and hilarity of the party.