"Ay, with all the strength of his constant heart." "I did not know it. I thought he liked me, but I had no idea it was as you say." "He told me in confidence some time before I left. My heart bleeds as I recall that conversation. No girl could hope to be more fondly, more faithfully loved. When the 'Merry Andrew' left Gravesend, I said to myself, 'When I return, Minnie will be Dan's wife,' for I could not but believe that you would have learned to appreciate the worth of such a love as his. But it was not to be." "No, it was not to be," says Minnie sadly. "If I had known, it could not have been; if I had remained at home, it could not have been. You, who knew Dan so well, do you not know something of me also? I understand the motive that impels you to speak to me of these things, and I honor you the more for it. It is another proof of your goodness and generosity"-- "Minnie, Minnie!" he cries, "do not speak to me like that!" "I must; I cannot help myself. Have you so poor an opinion of me--do you know so little of me--as to think I would marry a man I did not love? Rather than that, I would choose for him I loved the bitterest lot that life can offer--misery, shame, humiliation--and be content. Dan is all that you say; but I did not love him, did not deceive him. If he told you so, he told you what is false." "He did not tell me so, but said that from your manner to him sometimes, he hoped to win your love." "Must I shame myself to justify myself?" she cries recklessly. "I was happy in his company because he was your friend, and because he loved you. I was happy in his company because he spoke of you, and because--Joshua, have pity on me and forgive me! O my heart, my heart!" He catches her fainting form, for she is falling. Weeping, she turns her face from him and hides it in her hair. Soft breezes play among the branches of the trees, stirring them into worshipping motion, and the more-pork, with its sad-colored plumage, flits by on noiseless wings, uttering his melancholy note. Joshua waits until Minnie is more composed; presently her sobs grow fainter and she leaves the shelter of his arm, and stands a little apart from him, with her face still averted. "I do pity you," he then says, "and forgive you. What I have said and what I have done springs from no feeling of unkindness to you, Minnie. God knows, in such a strait as ours, such a feeling would be worse than cruel. But there are certain things of which I am afraid you are ignorant, that I must speak of and that you must hear. Do you know that, before I left home, I was suspected of playing with your feelings--of making love to you clandestinely, and so betraying the friend whom I would have laid down my life to serve?" "No, no Joshua, do not tell me that!" "It is the truth; but I did not know it until after I had bidden good-by to mother and father and Dan, in Stepney. Where were you on that day?" "I--I was not at home," she falters.