"Do you suppose," cried Marmaduke, with indignation, "I have any desire to _force_ you into anything? You may rest assured I will never mention the subject to your father. What do you take me for? You shall do just as you think fit. But, Phyllis, _darling_"--very tenderly, "won't you consider _me_ a little? Remember how I shall be longing for you, and how unhappy will be every day spent away from you. Oh, darling, you cannot comprehend how every thought of my heart is wrapped up in you--how passionate and devoted is my love." He looks so handsome, so much in earnest, as he says this, with his face flushed and his dark eyes alight, that I feel myself relenting. He sees his advantage and presses it. "You won't be cruel, darling, will you? Remember you have all the power in your own hands. I would not, if I could, compel you to marry me a day sooner than you wish. And, Phyllis, will you not try to think it is for your happiness as well as for mine? In time you will learn to love me as well--no, _that_ would be impossible--but almost as well as I love you. The entire devotion of a man's life _must_ meet with some return; and I swear it shall not be my fault if every hour you spend is not happier than the last. Speak, Phyllis, and say you will come to me in---" "A year," I interrupt, hastily. "Yes, that is a great concession; I said _three_ years first, and now by a word I take off two. That is twenty-four long months. _Think_ of it. You cannot expect more." "It will _never_ pass," says Marmaduke, desperately. "It will pass, all too soon," say I, with a heavy sigh. CHAPTER XII. All that evening and all the next day I creep about as one oppressed with sin. As the hour approaches that shall lay bare my secret I feel positively faint, and heartily wish myself in my grave. I am as wretched as though some calamity had befallen me; and verily I begin to think it has. With what intense longing do I wish undone all that happened yesterday! Almost as the hall-clock, with its customary uncouthness clangs out four strokes, Mr. Carrington rides up to the door. As I sit in an upper chamber--like Elaine, but with what different emotions!--watching my lover's coming, I can see he is looking oppressively radiant, and is actually whistling. I begin to hate him. How detestable a man looks when whistling! _Ploughboys_ whistle! He knocks a loud, determined, and, as it seems to me in my morbid fright, a triumphant knock at the door, and rings the bell until it sends forth a merry peal that echoes through the passages. A funny empty sensation comes into the tops of my fingers and across my forehead, as though the blood was receding, and, rising swiftly, I hurry to my own room and lock the door. _Now_ he is in the hall, and Billy and he are laughing--at some stupid joke, no doubt. _Now_ he is in the library; _now_ he has told papa it is a fine day; and _now_ it must be all over!