"Never mind. Perhaps somebody, perhaps nobody. It's the town's talk, and that's enough. Do you think I could be so wicked and selfish a woman as to hold you to your engagement, knowing this? No! Never shall it be said of Barbara Fauntleroy, in this or in aught else, that she secured her own happiness at the expense of anybody else's." "But Barbara----" "Don't 'Barbara' me, but listen," she interrupted playfully, laying her finger on his lips. "At present you hate me, and I don't say that your heart may not have cause; but I want to turn that hatred into love. If I can't get it as a wife, Travice, I may as a friend. I like you very much, and I can't afford to lose you quite. Heaven knows in what way I might have lost you, had we been married; or what would have been the ending." He lay looking at her, not altogether comprehending the words, in his weakness. "You shall marry Lucy as soon as you are strong enough; and a little bird has whispered me a secret that I fancy you don't know yet--that you'll have plenty and plenty of money, more than I should have brought you. We'll have a jolly wedding; and I'll be bridesmaid, if she'll let me." Barbara had talked till her eyes were running down with tears. His lashes began to glisten. "I couldn't do it, Barbara," he whispered; "I couldn't do it." "Perhaps not; but I can, and shall. Listen, you difficult old fellow, and set your mind and your conscience at rest. Before that great and good Being, who has spared you through this death-sickness, and has spared _me_, perhaps, a life of unhappiness, I solemnly swear that I will not marry you! I don't think I have much pride, but I've some; and I am above stooping to accept a man that all the world knows hates me like poison. I'd not have you now, Travice, though there were no Lucy Arkell in the world. A pretty figure I should cut on our wedding day, if I did hold you to your bargain! The town might follow us to church with a serenade of marrowbones and cleavers, as they do the butchers. I'll not leave you until you tell me all is at an end between us--on your side as on mine." "It is not right, Barbara. It is not right that I should treat you so." "I'll not leave you until you tell me all is at an end." "I _can't_ tell it you." "I'll not leave you until you tell me all is at an end," she persistently repeated. "No, not if I have to stop in the room all the blessed night, as your real sister might. What do I care for their fads and their punctilios? Here I'll stop." He looked up in her face with a smile. It had more of _love_ in it than Barbara had ever seen expressed to her from him. She bent down and kissed his lips.