But this being his mood, there was a burden which weighed on him, and weighing on him more heavily every day, and that was the part which he was playing towards the Squire. It had long galled him, when absent from her; of late it had begun to mar his delight in her presence. The role of secret lover had charmed for a time—what more shy, more elusive, more retiring than young love? And what more secret? Fain would it shun all eyes. But he had now reached a farther stage, and being honest, and almost quixotic by nature, he could not without pain fall day by day below the ideals which his fancy set up. To-day he had come to meet Josina with a fixed resolve, and a mind wound to the pitch of action; and presently into the fair pool of her content—yet quaking as he did so lest he should seem to hint a fault—he cast the stone. “And now, Jos,” he said, his eyes looking bravely into hers, “I must see your father.” “My father!” Fear sprang into her eyes. She stiffened. “Yes, dear,” he repeated. “I must see your father—and speak to him. There is no other course possible.” Color, love, joy, all fled from her face. She shivered. “My father!” she stammered, pale to the lips. “Oh, it is impossible! It is impossible! You would not do it!” She would have withdrawn her hands if he had not held them. “You cannot, cannot mean it! Have you thought what you are saying?” “I have, indeed,” he said, sobered by her fear, and full of pity for her. “I lay awake for hours last night thinking of it. But there is no other course, Jos, no other course—if we would be happy.” “But, oh, you don’t know him!” she cried, panic-stricken. And her terror wrung his heart. “You don’t know him! Or what he will think of me!” “Nothing very bad,” he rejoined. But more than ever, more than before, his conscience accused him. He felt that the shame which burned her face and in a moment gave way to the pallor of fear was the measure of his guilt; and in proportion as he winced under that knowledge, and under the knowledge that it was she who must pay the heavier penalty, he took blame to himself and was strengthened in his resolve. “Listen, Jos,” he said bravely. “Listen! And let me tell you what I mean. And, dearest, do not tremble as you are trembling. I am not going to tell him to-day. But tell him I must some day—and soon, if we do not wish him to learn it from others.” She shuddered. All had been so bright, so new, so joyous; and now she was to pay the price. And the price had a very terrible aspect for her. Fate, a cruel, pitiless fate, was closing upon her. She could not speak, but her eyes, her quivering lips, pleaded with him for mercy.