“Stop there!” said she, fiercely; “my favour is not put up to auction, and to fall to the highest bidder. When you have said that my uncle is poor, you have said all that can be laid to his charge.” She closed her eyes, and, seeming to speak to herself, murmured: “The poorer, the more need has he of affection.” “I see it all--all!” said he, bitterly. “You wish to leave me.” She made no answer, but sat staring vacantly over the sea. “Better to say so, my child--better to own that this life has ceased to give you pleasure. But if you told me, Kate, that you would like to travel, to see other countries, to mix with the world, and partake of the enjoyments----” “How--as what?” said she, impatiently. “It was but a few months ago you received some strangers at your house, and have you forgotten how they treated me? And do you believe, Sir, that the world will have more reserve than the guests under your roof? Who is she? is not answered so easily as one may think. It would take blood to wash out the stain of ‘What is she?’” The old man walked rapidly up and down; he wiped the drops that stood on his brow, and muttered uneasily to himself: “and why not? To whom have I to render an account? Who shall dare to question me? Am I to be turned from my path by a sneer and a sarcasm? Is the ribald gossiping of a club to be of more weight with me than my whole happiness?” She watched the conflict, and saw every struggle that shook him; she could even mark the vacillating fortunes of the fight--when he conquered, and when he fell back, discomfited and beaten. “Tell me, Kate,” said he, at last, as he approached her, “is there any condition you can propose by which I may secure myself against desertion?” “There would be no desertion, Gardy. You could come and see me in my new home. I would do my utmost to hide its poverty. Who knows if my ingenious devices might not amuse you. My uncle, too, might permit me--no, perhaps not that----” said she, stopping, in some confusion. “What is it he wouldn’t permit, Kate?” “I don’t know; I was talking to myself, I believe, and I feel weary and feverish too. Gardy, let us not speak more of this now; it oppresses me. And see! there goes down the sun, and I have not enjoyed all its gorgeous colour over the waters.” “I wish you would tell me what Mr. Luttrell might not permit.” “He’d not permit me to stay out on the sea-shore till the evening dew had fallen,” said she, laughing. “Tell them to take me back.” “Yes, darling, we have lingered here too long. It was my fault.”