He saw the eager eyes flash, and felt the hand upon his arm tremble with anger. “What!” she was beginning wrathfully, but broke off and continued in a softer tone: “You are vexed, I suppose, because I deceived you?” “Nay, madam, ’tis not that. I had liefer you had told me the truth, yet that is a small matter. But that you should thus exhibit yourself—” She snatched away her hand. “You would have kept me all to yourself, I suppose?” “God knows I would!” said he. “And you have the face to tell me so. You would have me stifle my ambition—make nothing of my talent—throw away the fame and fortune which are now actually within my grasp? And pray, John Cotley, what would you leave me?” “Peace of mind,” said Cotley. “Honour—” “Sir, do you mean to insult me? Surely these things must be mine in any walk of life.” “Madam, they are endangered by the course you would pursue. Give it up, I beg of you—I entreat it of you. You cannot already have forgotten what has passed between us—does it give me no right over you?” “You are in truth a strange man,” said she petulantly, “though I believe you love me well in your own odd fashion,” and here the little hand stole back again to his arm. “But it is a selfish fashion, John. You would take everything from me—what would you give me in return?” “All that I am,” said John. “All that I have. My love, my home, myself. I came round to this place to offer them to you once and for all.” The very intensity of his passion made his voice sound stern, and Lady Lucy once more jerked away her hand, and tossed her head. “Upon my word, sir, you are mighty cool. Pray do you expect me to jump at this proposal? I believe you do. I believe you would have me on my knees with gratitude for your condescension. Really it is laughable. Here am I with the world at my feet, and you—you would have me give up my whole career at your command and follow you like some meek patient Grizzel to that dreary home of yours. And you make this noble offer once for all, do you? You are not disposed to renew it, should I venture to hesitate?” “No,” said John Cotley: “I am not to be trifled with. It must be now or never.” “Then it shall be never!” said Lady Lucy. * * * Seven years passed by, and John Cotley tilled his fields, and sowed, and reaped, and rode abroad in summer heat and wintry frosts. He was a hard man, his labourers said, and the neighbours gibed at him for being morose; and John Cotley went on his way without heeding them, though day by day the lines about mouth and eyes deepened, and silver threads, which had no business there, increased among his brown locks.