“But I do. See here; I have a kind of faith that if you--if you would tell her to--to accept me, that she’d do it. Laugh at the idea as much as you like, but you can’t destroy it. It’s there, and I can’t get rid of it. Cly--I mean Faradeane, for Heaven’s sake say ‘Yes!’” Faradeane looked down at him with steady, yet dreamy gaze; then he seemed to straighten himself, to brace himself, as it were, and said, slowly: “Well, I will do it.” Bertie sprang to his feet, his face flushed with relief and gratification; but Faradeane held up his hand. “Stop! No gratitude! No thanks! If you knew how I hated”--he stopped and bit his lip--“how I disliked it, you would not say a word.” Bertie seized his hand. “But I must thank you, old fellow! The best, the dearest----” “When am I to do this?” interrupted Faradeane in a strained, harsh voice. “Soon! As soon as you can to-morrow!” replied Bertie, all in a fervor. “I can’t wait any longer--I can’t, indeed! Ah, if you knew how I love her!” “Perhaps I can guess,” caustically. “But you can’t. You see, she is nothing to you; just a pretty, lady-like girl----” “Just a pretty, lady-like girl,” echoed Faradeane in a strange voice; “exactly.” “But to me she is a goddess, an--an angel. Oh, dear old man, do the best you can for me. I leave it all to you. Tell her that I love her better than life itself; that I--but you will know what to say better than I can tell you. You won’t be all of a tremble as I should be. You, not caring for her, will be cool and collected, and--and will persuade her. I should break down and stumble and stammer; but you--you see, it’s a matter of perfect indifference to you!” “Exactly,” said Faradeane, and his voice sounded almost harsh and hoarse; “and now----” “Yes, I’m going,” said Bertie, seizing his hat. “I won’t thank you----” “Don’t.” “I can’t. I shall never be able to pay you----” “I don’t think you will,” slowly, almost inaudibly, came the retort. “But it’s just like you. I knew you wouldn’t refuse me, though you might not like it at first.” “I don’t like it at last. But go now, Cherub,” and he laid his hand half protectingly, half pityingly, upon Bertie’s shoulder and gently led him to the door. “Good-night, old fellow; and thank you a thousand--thousand----Look!” and he sprang into the bush. “Faradeane, there is some one--some man here in the garden!” he exclaimed in a hushed and startled whisper. Faradeane was at his side in a moment. “Where?” he asked in a low, calm voice. “There--there in the shrubs in the shadow. I saw him!” Faradeane sprang to the spot indicated by Bertie’s pointed finger, and searched among the bushes. “There is no one there,” he said, quietly and calmly. “Your nerves are overstrained.” “Where is that dog of yours?” said Bertie. Faradeane nodded toward the back of the house. “In the kennel,” he said. “Let him loose--do now! I am sure----Come and let us get him.”