"But Will, dear, listen to me for a moment," she said, with a piteous entreaty in her voice. "I know why you have always to go away from England, although you have been too kind-hearted to speak of it—I know it quite well—it’s because I am to have the money that belongs to you, and you have to fight your way all by yourself, and leave your family year after year, and all because of me—and I won’t have the money, Will—I hate it—and it’s making me more miserable every day." "Darling, don’t distress yourself like that," he said, soothingly, for she was now crying very bitterly. "I assure you, you mistake the whole affair. I won’t go to Honduras, if you like—I’ll do anything you ask me. But really, Dove, I go abroad merely because, as I believe, one of my ancestors must have married a gipsy. I like to wander about, and see people, and live differently, and get generally woke up to what’s going on in the world. Bless you, my darling, if it were money I wanted, I ought to have remained at home from the beginning. My father has only done what any well-thinking man would have done in his place—and you mustn’t fret yourself about such a trifle——" "I knew you would never acknowledge I was robbing you, Will; but I am. And all the time you were in Russia, and in Canada, whenever there was a heavy storm blowing, I used to lie awake at night and cry; because I knew it was I who had sent you away out there, and I thought you might be in a ship and in danger—all through me. And this morning, when you—when you said you were going to Honduras, I made up my mind then to go to papa to-morrow morning, and I’ll tell him I won’t have the money—I’ll go away from you altogether rather, and be a governess——" "Now, now, Dove, don’t vex me and yourself about nothing," he said to her kindly. "I won’t go to Honduras." "You won’t?" "I won’t." She raised her head a little bit—in an entreating way—and the compact was sealed. "I’ll tell you what I shall do," he said, taking the hand that lay on his arm into his own. "I will stay at home, get myself into some regular work, take a small house somewhere near here, and then you’ll come and be my wife, won’t you, Dove?" There was a slight pressure on his hand: that was her only answer. They walked on for some little time in silence; and then, catching a glimpse of her face, he stopped to dry the tears from her cheeks. While engaged in that interesting occupation, she said to him, with a little smile: "It looks as if _I_ had asked _you_, Will—doesn’t it?" "I don’t think so," he said. "It wouldn’t matter, if I did—would it?" she asked, simply. "For you know how fond I am of you, Will." They talked of that and a good many other relevant matters until they had reached St. Mary-Kirby. They paused for a moment on the bridge—to look at the dark shadows about the mill and the white sheen of the moonlight on the water; and then she whispered timidly: "When shall we be married, Will?"