It was only by the strongest effort that I was able to preserve my composure when he said that. I affected to take no particular heed of it. “I wish we could have saved him,” I said presently. “I fear my father will visit his displeasure upon both of us for our neglect to say a word in Dick’s favour. He thinks so much of family ties, cousin. But I trust he may not, for I do not wish you to meet with a frown from him when you conduct me home, under the--the circumstances that you spoke of a little time ago,” said I, giving him a sly glance. “I would do aught to please you, cousin,” he exclaimed. “But in this matter of Dick Coope, what can I do, even if he be still alive, which I question? I have no influence with Fairfax.” “You must surely have some,” I replied. “One who has rendered such service.” “Why, I may have some slight claim upon him,” he said. “But come, cousin, what signifies Dick Coope--let us talk of ourselves.” “Dear Anthony,” said I, “we shall have so much time for that afterwards, and i’ faith I am concerned about Dick--though indeed I have no cause to trouble myself about him, seeing that he and I could never abide one another’s presence--for the reason that my father and our relations will be sore vexed at his death. And I am so anxious that naught should occur to vex my father at this time,” I added, looking significantly at him, “that if it were in my power I would do something to save Dick, and get him out of the country. Is there aught that we could do in that way, cousin?” “I won’t say that something might not be done,” said he. “I might contrive his escape if he still lives.” “I would give something if that were done,” said I. “Why, that’s noble and generous in you, cousin! Come, I think the more of you for that. But is the thing possible?” “There are three things that would make it so,” said he, looking narrowly at me. “And what are they, cousin?” I enquired. “Why,” said he, “first, if he’s still alive; second, if there’s money in the house to secure his release; and third, if you will reward me for my efforts on his behalf.” “I reward you?” said I, affecting a great surprise. “How can I reward you, cousin?” “By bestowing yourself upon me without delay, fair cousin!” he cried, throwing himself at my feet and seizing my hand. “Why,” said I, affecting a pretty confusion, “I thought that I had already given you some promise of the sort--but ‘without delay’ sounds so formidable--will not a year hence suit you, cousin?” I said. “A year hence? ’Tis an age--a century!” he exclaimed, possessing himself of both my hands. “It must be at once--I cannot endure my passion to remain unsatisfied, fair coz; indeed, I love thee so much.” “I could do much for a man that gratified my whim,” said I.