'Take care, Captain Dalton, or I shall be led to infer that you are falling in love with me.' 'You know that I have done so--that I have loved you since the first moment we met.' She was laughing excessively now, and Dalton felt that a lover laughed at had little hope of success, so he said, gravely, 'I hope you are not playing fast and loose with me and my friend Wilmot.' 'Have you no better opinion of me, Captain Dalton?' 'He gave me to understand that you declined his addresses.' 'Whatever they may be--yes,' replied the smiling widow, 'but I would not have mentioned the matter, as he seems to have done--poor Jerry!' 'Why mock my earnestness?' asked Dalton, in a pointed tone of voice. 'Because you cannot love me as I would wish to be loved.' 'You do not know me, Mrs. Trelawney.' 'I know you better than you know yourself!' she exclaimed, looking him full in the face with a peculiar expression that puzzled him, while her smiles vanished. 'Perhaps you do,' said he, 'but I think that, if you once loved a man, that love would end only with your life.' She regarded him for a moment with an almost disdainful smile, and said, 'And you, Captain Dalton--if you loved a woman, how long would your love last? Only while it suited your fancy or convenience.' 'You are very severe with me,' he observed, with some surprise at her taunting manner. 'Not more than you know you deserve.' At these words Dalton visibly changed colour, and became confused. To what secret of his past life was she referring, he thought; to what long-buried thoughts was she finding a clue? 'You have become very silent,' said she. He sighed deeply, and rose as if to depart. 'Pardon me, if my words pain you, Captain Dalton,' said she, all her spirit of raillery gone; 'but you have grown pale, as if the shadow of death were on you.' 'It is not that,' said he, with a sickly smile. 'What then?' 'The shadow of a life rather.' 'Whose?' she asked, lightly touching his hand. 'My own!' 'He _has_ a secret that shall one day be mine!' thought Mrs. Trelawney, while at the same moment Dalton was thinking of the rumour mentioned by Jerry Wilmot, and marvelled if her occasional peculiarity of manner arose from that rumour being founded on truth! But Dalton felt his heart too much involved, and himself too deeply committed to let the matter end here. 'Your treatment of me is most strange, Mrs. Trelawney, even cruel, I think, Laura--permit me to call you so--even for once,' he said. 'My society has always seemed to give you pleasure, and you have always seemed glad when I caressed your little daughter and gave her little presents; and, truth to tell, dearest Laura, my heart has somehow gone out to that child as if she were my own.' 'Your own--yours!' exclaimed Mrs. Trelawney, as she pressed a hand upon her heart, and lowered her eyelids, as if to hide the expression of joy, exultation, and, odd to say, irritation that mingled in her face.