"Oh, Will, Will," she cried, passionately, imploringly, "don’t talk like that to me, or you’ll break my heart. Be friends with me, Will—dear Will—for if I’m not friends with you, what’s the use of living? And I’m very sorry, Will; and I didn’t mean it; but all the same you should have told me, _and I hate her_!" "Now you are yourself, Dove," he said, laughing. "And if Miss Brunel were here just now, you would fling your arms round her neck, and beg her to forgive you——" "I am never going to fling my arms round any person’s neck," said Dove, "except, perhaps, one person—that is, when the person deserves it—but I don’t think he ever will; and as for Miss Brunel, I don’t know what business she has going abroad just now, and I don’t know why I should be so fond of her, although I hate her quite the same; and if she were here just now, as you say, I would tell her she ought to be ashamed of herself, cheating people into liking her." "You talk very prettily, Dove, but with a touch of incoherence. You ought to hear how Annie Brunel speaks of _you_; and you ought to know what a kindly, tender, almost motherly interest she has in you." "Then you have seen her lately?" said Dove, peeping up. "Yes, once or twice." "Does she know that we are to be married?" asked Dove, looking down again. "She knows that we are to be magghied. You foolish little darling, she saw it in your face the moment you met her; and you might have seen that she knew your secret." "Actresses are witches, dear," said Dove, gravely. "They know everything." "They are like witches in having suffered a good deal of persecution at the hands of the ignorant and vulgar." "Is that me, dear?" she asked, demurely. "No? Then, I shan’t make fun any more. But if you’re really going away on Monday evening, Will, I want to bid you good-bye to-night—and not before all the people you know; and I’ll tell you all that you have got to do when you are away in thinking about me. There’s the moon getting up now behind Woodhill Church; and every night at ten, Will, all the time you are away, I’ll go up to my room and look up at her, and you’ll do the same, darling, won’t you, just to please me? And then I’ll know that my Will is thinking of me, and of St. Mary-Kirby; and then you’ll know, darling, that I’m thinking of you, and if I could only send a kiss over to you, I’d do it. It won’t be much trouble to you, will it? And if I’m lonely and miserable all the day, and if the ’Coulin,’ that I can’t help playing sometimes, makes me cry, I shall know that at ten you and I will be able to speak to each other that way——" "I’ll do everything you ask me," said Will, to her gently; "but—but don’t play the ’Coulin’ any more, Dove." "Why, dear? Ah! you said it was the parting of death. Why did you say that?" CHAPTER XIII. "MIT DEINEN SCHÖNEN AUGEN."