“Annabel said the truth--that I do think of going out as daily governess,” she replied, bending over a carnation to hide the blush which rose to her cheeks, a very rival to the blushing flower. “It is a great misfortune that has fallen upon us--at least we can only look at it in that light at present, and will, beyond doubt, be productive of some embarrassment. Do you not see, William, that it is incumbent upon us all to endeavour to lighten this embarrassment, those of us who can do so? I must assume my share of the burden.” Mr. Yorke was silent. Constance took it for granted that he was displeased. He was of an excellent family, and she supposed he disliked the step she was about to take--deemed it would be derogatory to his future wife. “Have you fully made up your mind?” he at length asked. “Yes. I have talked it over with mamma--for indeed she and I both seem to have anticipated this--and she thinks with me, that it is what I ought to do. William, how could I reconcile it to my conscience not to help?” she continued. “Think of papa! think of his strait! It appears to be a plain duty thrown in my path.” “By yourself, Constance?” “Not by myself,” she whispered, lifting for a moment her large blue eyes. “Oh, William, William, do not be displeased with me! do not forbid it! It is honourable to work--it is right to do what we can. Strive to see it in the right light.” “Let that carnation alone, Constance; give your attention to me. What if I do forbid it?” She walked a little forward, leaving the carnation bed, and halted under the shade of the dark cedar tree, her heart and colour alike fading. Mr. Yorke followed and stood before her. “William, I must do my duty. There is no other way open to me, by which I can earn something to help in this time of need, except that of becoming a governess. Many a lady, better born than I, has done it before me.” “A daily governess, I think you said?” “Papa could not spare me to go out altogether; Annabel could not spare me either; and--” “I would not spare you,” he struck in, filling up her pause. “Was that what you were about to say, Constance?” The rosy hue stole over her face again, and a sweet smile to her lips: “Oh, William, if you will only sanction it! I shall go about it then with the lightest heart!” He looked at her with an expression she did not understand, and shook his head. Constance thought it a negative shake, and her hopes fell again. “You did not answer my question,” said Mr. Yorke. “What if I forbid it?” “But it seems to be my duty,” she urged from between her pale and parted lips. “Constance, that is no answer.” “Oh, do not, do not! William, do not you throw this temptation in my way--that of choosing between yourself and a plain duty that lies before me.” “The temptation, as you call it, must be for a later consideration. Why will you not answer me? What would be your course if I forbade it?” “I do not know. But, Oh, William, if you gave me up--”