It was, as I say, of no use my trying to get him to take them back; he would have no denial:--he absolutely got offended with me when I persisted in my refusal. "Non!" he said. "When you come back a reech mans, you can pays me back; but, note till den! Non, Monsieur Lorton! I believes you considers me a friend. You offend me if you refuse! Take hims for ze memory de notre amitie!" What could I do? I had to take the money after that. The only _great_ thing that grieved me at parting was the thought that I could not see Min, to have one parting word; but, even that favour was afforded me:--God was very good to me! I had gone to the vicarage to say a last good-bye to the dear friends there. I was ushered into Miss Pimpernell's parlour; but _she_ was not there. Somebody else was, though; for, who should get up from the dear old lady's seat in the fireside corner--where she always sat, winter and summer alike--but, my darling! The surprise was almost too much for me, it was so unexpected. I thought it was her ghost at first. "Min!" I exclaimed. "Oh, Frank!"--she said, coming forwards eagerly--"and could you have the heart to go away without my seeing you again?" I drew back. "Min,"--said I,--"do not come near me! You do not know what has occurred; how I have sinned; how unworthy I am even to speak to you!" She would not be denied, however. She came nearer me, and took my hand. "But, you have repented, Frank,"--she said--"have you not?" "Oh, my darling!"--I said,--"I _have_ repented; but that will not bring back the past. I can never hope to be forgiven, I know. I ought not to speak to you even!" "Ah, Frank!"--she replied, looking up into my face with her dear grey eyes, which I had thought I would never look upon again.--"Don't you remember that sermon the vicar preached last year, when we were in church together? and, don't you remember the words of his text, how assuring they ought to be to us?--`Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool!'" We were both silent. Presently, as we sat side by side, Min spoke to me again. "You will not forget me, Frank, will you?" she asked. "That is very likely!" I said, laughing in my heart at the idea. "And you will be good, Frank, will you not?" "My darling," I said, "with God's grace I shall never from henceforth be unworthy of your trust in me, either in thought, in word, or, in deed." "But America is _so_ far off!" she said again after a bit, with a tender little sigh. "Not so _very_ far,"--I replied,--"and, though my body may be a few miles distant from you--for it _is_ only a few miles over the sea--you may know that my heart will always be with you. I shall be ever thinking of the time when I can come back and claim you as my own darling little wife!" "But I can make no promise, you know, Frank!"--she said.