"This is some of your underhand work," I say, with suppressed anger, addressing Dora. "I would not speak of 'underhand work,' if I were _you_," returns she, smoothly, with an almost invisible flash from her innocent blue eyes. "Do not let us discuss the subject further," says papa, in a loud tone. "There is nothing so disagreeable as public recrimination. Understand once for all, Phyllis, the matter is arranged, and you will be ready to go next week." "I will not?" I cry, passionately, rising and flinging my napkin upon the ground. "I have made up my mind, and I will not go to Qualmsley. Not all the fathers in Christendom shall make me." "Phyllis!" roars papa, making a wild grab at me as I sweep past his chair; but I avoid him defiantly, and, going out, slam the door with much intentional violence behind me. I fly through the hall and into the open air, I feel suffocated, half choked, by my angry emotion; but the sweet evening breeze revives me. It is eight o'clock, and a delicious twilight pervades the land. I run swiftly, an irrepressible sob in my throat, down the lawn, past the paddock, and along the banks of the little stream, until, as I come to what we call the "short cut" to Briersley, I run myself into Mr. Carrington's arms, who is probably on his way to Summerleas. Usually my greeting to him is a hand outstretched from my body to the length of my arm. Now I cast myself generously into his embrace. I cling to him with almost affectionate fervor. He is very nearly dear to me at this moment, coming to me as a sure and certain friend. "My darling--my life!" he exclaims, "what is it? You are unhappy; your eyes are full of trouble." His arms are round me; he presses his lips gently to my forehead; it is a rare thing this kiss, as it is but seldom he caresses me, knowing my antipathy to any demonstrative attentions; but now my evident affliction removes a barrier. "I want you to marry me--at once." I breathe rather than speak, my hasty running and my excitement having wellnigh stifled me. "You will, will you not? You must. I will not stay here a moment longer than I can help. You said once you wished to marry me in June; you must wish it still." "I do," he answers, calmly, but his arms tighten round me, and his face flushes. "I will marry you when and where you please. Do you mean to-morrow?--next week?--when?" "Next month; early next month. I will be ready then. You must tell papa so this evening, and take me away soon. I will show them I will not stay here to be tyrannized over and tormented." I burst into tears, and bury my face in his coat. "You shall not stay an hour longer, if you don't wish it," returns my lover, rather unsteadily. "Come with me now, and I will take you to my sister's, and will marry you to-morrow."