“I remember him well,” said Mrs. Brande; “such a handsome fellow, and so fond of society, and so popular. His second wife--I have seen her--a dark person, with----Well, she is dead; let her rest. Oh, Mark, I suppose this must be. But is there not some way out of this trouble, some loophole, some alternative? Surely you would not sacrifice my poor Honor and yourself for nothing?” And her still pretty blue eyes swam in tears. “No, Mrs. Brande, you may rely on me in that. To hold to Honor--I give up Honor. May she come as far as the gate with me?” “Yes, she may, to be sure.” “And give me something--you have no photograph, I know--just to show that we part friends?” And he looked at her appealingly. Mrs. Brande, who had been crying, deliberately wiped her eyes, and threw both her arms round his neck and kissed him. It was no mere playful threat this time! The dirzee, who had just arrived, and was slowly unfolding his mat, could hardly believe his senses. He told the scandal in the bazaar that evening, and was laughed to scorn for his pains! The young couple, closely followed by syce and pony, walked slowly to the gate; ay, and up the road. “I little thought how I should next see you, and what I should have to tell you, when we last parted at this very gate,” he said at last. “You are giving up a fortune and great prospects, I know, Mark, because you find your duty lies out here; you are giving up the world and going into banishment. But, Mark, I prepare you, that I am going to say something”--with a catch of her breath--“that may lower me in your eyes; still I will venture. Surely you need not give up _me_. Please”--speaking forcibly--“hear my reasons. I am accustomed to a very quiet life at home. I was brought up in poverty; I shall make a capital poor man’s wife. You say your father’s affairs are in a fearful muddle, and that he has but an annuity. I can nurse him, read to him, walk out with him, and amuse him; I will be very good to your father. I don’t want society, or new dresses, or anything, or any one--but you, Mark. I know that I am shamefully bold and unmaidenly--it would kill Mrs. Grundy to hear me--but I believe you think that I shall mind your dull, lonely jungle life; that I shrink from poverty. You are quite mistaken; I shall enjoy it with you. Do not say ‘No,’ Mark, even if we must wait. I am ready to wait--ten, twenty years--thirty years,” concluded this reckless young woman. She was waiting now for his answer, white and trembling from the force of her own emotion.