“Yes; at least I told her I was a widower; I never felt a call to tell her more; she would not understand, look you. She asked me what this leaden locket was I wear about my neck, with this poor broken piece of stick in it, and something withered clinging to it still, and I told her it was a charm against the ague. Now, you--I'll wager you can tell me what it holds.” “No, not I. How should _I_ know?” inquired my Lady hurriedly. “You _do_ know, anyway. This fellow is not the sort of man to carry charms, you think; and all that's sacred to him in the world or out of it hangs on his love that's drowned. This, then, must be some token--were there not fuchsias upon either side the porch where first they met? There, now, you have it, I can see.” “You plucked, perhaps, a piece of fuchsia when you plighted troth,” murmured my Lady. “Ay, when we plighted troth,” answered the other mournfully; “and breaking a twig in twain, all blossoming then, but now--see, dried to dust--each kept a half. I have seen far up the hills in Mexico a piece of the true Cross, that's held to be the richest possession that the Church calls her own in those parts; well, that's not sure; it may be or it mayn't be what they term it; but this poor twig has never been out of my sight or reach, and so I kiss and worship this, my relic, as no devotee can do.--Now, what would Mary Forest say to that? She is not like my Lucy; no, indeed, no more than I am like the Ralph of those old days; and if she were, should I be fit for her? My Lucy married to a drunken, gambling ruffian! Tis blasphemy to think upon it. But as for this wench, your waiting-maid, she and I are suited well enough. She wants a husband, and is willing to take me; while I, who have been tossed so long on the stormy billows of life, shall be glad to come to anchor. It is you only--she told me so herself--who stand in the way.” “And would you have me, then, advise this woman--being my faithful friend as well as my servant--to unite her fortunes with a man who, from his own lips I learn, is hopeless, reckless, Godless, a drunkard and a gambler”---- “Hell and Furies!” broke forth the other impatiently, “will you dare to use what I have just now told you against myself! Beware, beware, proud woman, how you cross a desperate man! Since my life is worthless, as you paint it, you may be sure that I shall hold the risk of losing it lighter than better men: there is nothing that I dare not do to those who cross me.” “I have no fear for myself, sir, and least of all things, Ralph Derrick, do I fear death,” answered my Lady calmly. “Yet willingly I promise that I will never breathe one syllable to human ear of what you have said to-night.”