Yes, I wish you to know it before we part, and I hope that you will never quite forget it, for none will ever love you so much again as I have, and do, and shall do till I die. And now it is all done with, and of it there will remain nothing except some pain for you, and for me my memories and a broken heart. What is that you say again about marrying me? Have I not told you that you shall not do it? though I shall never forget that you have even thought of such a thing.” “I say that I _will_ marry you, Joan,” broke in Henry, in a hoarse voice. “Why should I spoil your life and mine for the sake of others?” “No, no, you will not. Why should you spoil Emma Levinger’s life, and your sister’s, and your mother’s, and bring yourself to disgrace and ruin for the sake of a girl like me? No, you will not. You will bid me farewell, now and for ever.” And she held out her hand to him, while two great tears ran slowly down her face. He saw the tears, and his heart melted, for they moved him more than all her words. “My darling!” he whispered, drawing her towards him. “Yes,” she answered: “kiss away my tears this once, that, remembering it, whatever befalls me, I may weep no more for ever.” CHAPTER XV. THE FIRSTFRUITS. Some days had passed since this night of avowal when, very early one morning, Henry was awakened from sleep by the sound of wheels and of knocking at the inn door. A strange apprehension took hold of him, and he rose from his bed and limped to the window. Then he saw that the carriage which had arrived was the old Rosham shooting brake, a long plain vehicle with deal seats running down its length on either side, constructed to carry eight or nine sportsmen to and from the more distant beats. Knocking at the door was none other than Edward Milward, and Henry guessed at once that he must have come to fetch him. “Well, perhaps it is as well,” he thought to himself grimly; then again his heart was filled with fear. What had happened? Why did Milward come thus, and at such an hour? In another minute Edward had entered the room, followed by Mrs. Gillingwater. “Your father is dying, Graves,” he blurted out. “I don’t know what it is; he collapsed suddenly in the middle of the night. If you want to see him alive—and you had better, if you can, while he has got his senses—you must make shift to come along with me at once. I have brought the brake, so that you can lie in it at full length. That was Ellen’s idea: I should never have thought of it.” “Great Heaven!” said Henry. Then, assisted by Mrs. Gillingwater, he began to get into his clothes. In ten minutes they were off, Henry lying flat upon a mattress at the bottom of the brake. Once he lifted his head and looked through the open rails of the vehicle towards the door of the house. Mrs. Gillingwater, who was a shrewd woman, interpreted the glance.