"Oh, what are you talking about, Maisrie!" he said, with simulated anger. "If you think I am going to allow any such folly, you are mistaken. There are plenty of dairymaids in the world without you. And I have the right to say something—I claim the right: I am going to interfere, whether you like it or not. When you speak of your duty towards your grandfather, that I understand. He has been everything to you: who would ask you to forsake him? But, as you say, he is an old man. If anything were to happen to him, think of your own position. You have hardly a friend in the world—a few acquaintances in Canada, perhaps—but what is that? You will want some one to protect you: give me that right! If I let you go from me now, how am I to find you again?—how am I to know what may happen? Maisrie, have courage!—be frank!—tell me that the little message of last night meant something more!" The eloquence was not in the words, but in the vibrating tones of his voice; and there were tears in her eyes as she answered— "Vincent, I cannot—I dare not! You don’t know how grandfather and I are situated: you are so generous, so open-minded, that—that you see everything in so favourable a light; but then other people might step in—— "Between you and me? Who?" he demanded, with set lips. "Ah," she said, with a sigh, "who can tell? And besides—besides—do you not think I am as proud of you as any one?—do you not think I am looking forward to all that is expected of you?—and when I hear of you as this or that, I will say to myself ’I knew what Vincent was going to do; and now he is glad that he did not hamper himself out of—out of pity—for a friendless girl’——" But here she broke down altogether, and covered her face with her hands, and sobbed without possibility of concealment. He was by her side in a moment; he laid his hand on the down-bent head—on the soft hair. "Maisrie," he said, with the utmost gentleness, "don’t make me angry. If you have anything to say why you cannot, or will not, be my wife, tell me; but do not be unreasonable and foolish. You speak of my future: it is nothing to me without you. You talk of the expectations of my friends: I tell you that my life is my own. And why should you be any drag or hamper—you! I wish you would think of yourself a little: not of me. Surely there is something better in the world than ambition, and figuring before the public in newspapers." Then he stopped for a second or two; and resumed in a lower and different tone. "Of course, if you refuse me your love, that is different. That I can understand. I have done nothing to deserve it: I have come to you as a beggar. If you refuse me that, there is nothing more to be said. I do not blame you. If I have made a mistake, so much the worse for me——" She rose.