"I can't help it," he cried; "it's more than a fellow can bear. I'm not ashamed to own it. I love Jessie dearly; and if she'll be my little wife I don't care what anybody says. Poor girl, indeed! Where's the lady in our set that can stand before her?" "Not many, I know," said Mrs Shingle proudly. "She can't help uncle being poor, and I can't help my step-father being rich. Come, aunt, you'll let me go?" "I mustn't." "Then it's because that brother of mine has been here," cried Tom angrily. "No, no, no!" cried Mrs Shingle; "indeed it isn't, my dear boy. But I mustn't allow it--I mustn't indeed. Your father will never forgive me." "Jessie dear," cried the young man, taking her hand, "you know I love you." "I know you say you do," she faltered. "And I think you care for me--a little." "Oh no, I don't think I do--not a bit," she said, half archly, half with the tears in her sweet eyes, as they would look tenderly at him, and seemed to say how much she would like him to come and protect her. "I do not believe you, my darling," he cried impetuously. "I'm quite satisfied about that. Aunt dear, you'll let me go with her?" "I don't like it," said Mrs Shingle; "and I'm sure it will lead to trouble." "Not it. Come, Jessie!" "No, no, no!" cried Jessie. "Indeed you ought not to come, Tom." "Tom! Well, I must come after that," he cried. "Oh no: I did not mean it." "Well, look here," said the young fellow. "Listen, both of you. If you will not let me walk with you side by side, I'll follow like a shadow." "Shadows can't carry parcels," said Jessie merrily. "This one can, and will." "There, go along, do, both of you," said Mrs Shingle, whose eyes twinkled with pleasure as she looked on Tom's eager face. "You'll be dreadfully late." "All right," cried Tom joyfully; "we'll make haste, and if we are going to be late we'll take a cab." "Because we are ashamed of the parcel," said Jessie demurely. "Ashamed!" cried Tom. "Why, if you'll come with me I'll take the parcel under one arm and you under the other, and walk all round the quadrangle at Somerset House when the clerks are leaving, just to make them all envious." "Go along, do!" cried Mrs Shingle. And she stood gazing after them as there was a playful struggle for the parcel at the door; while, as they disappeared, the plump little woman took up her shoe-binding, began stitching, and sighed-- "Heigho! I'm afraid I've done very wrong." VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER TWO. HOPPER--SHIP'S HUSBAND. "Halloa, you sir!" said a snarling voice; "mind where you're running to." "Beg pardon! Halloa, Mr Hopper, is it you?" exclaimed Tom. "Eh? What? Yes, it is me, you rough, ill-mannered cub. Tom Fraser, if you were my son, hang it, sir, I'd thrash you, sir--trying to knock down a respectable wayfarer who is getting old and infirm."