"You must not say 'cousin,' again, Mary. I'm worn out, now, and half mad with my feelings--and it makes me desperate. One thing is certain: I can not stay any longer where you are, if you continue so undecided. I want a final answer to-night. If it is unpropitious, I shall go away to-morrow, and seek for such poor fortune as may be mine, in some other part of the world." "But what will father do without you, James?" There was distress and a half-yielding cadence in Mary's voice. "That is for you to think of." "His health is failing so rapidly of late; and he leans so much upon you--trusts every thing to you. I am afraid it would kill him to have all his hopes and plans again frustrated. He has never recovered from the shock of Henry's death, and Richard's--going away." "If you think so, Mary, why do you any longer hesitate? You acknowledge that you love me as a cousin--let me teach you to love me as a lover. My sweetest, it will make us all so happy." But why should I try to repeat here the arguments which I heard?--the main burden of which was the welfare and wishes of her father and sister--mingled with bursts of tender entreaty--and, what was more powerful than all, the exercise of that soft yet terrible will which had worked its way, thus far, against all obstacles. Suffice it, that when the cousins at last--after what seemed to me an age, though it could not have been twenty minutes--returned through the window, I had heard the promise of Mary to become the wife of James before the beginning of another year. Never was a man more glad to release himself from an unpleasant predicament than I was to descend from my perch when the two figures had passed within the house. My fear of discovery had become absorbed in my keen shame and regret at being compelled to play the eavesdropper to a conversation like that which I had overheard. Moving a few paces in the shadow of the trees, I whispered--"Burton." "Got yourself into a pretty scrape," was instantly answered, in a low tone, as my friend took my arm and we moved forward to the gate. "I didn't know but we should have a tragico-comedy upon the spot, impromptu and highly interesting." "I almost wonder that you are not too greatly out of patience with waiting to jest about the matter." "I've told you my motto--'learn to _wait_,' Richard. The gods will not be hurried; but have you the knife?" "Ay!" was my grim answer; I felt grim, as I grasped the treacherous, murderous thing which had wrought such deadly mischief. The sound of shutters drawn together startled us into a quicker pace; we looked back and saw the lower part of the house dark--hurried forward, and without any molestation, or our presence in Blankville being known to a single acquaintance, took the night-train back to New York, which we reached about two, A. M. and were at Mr. Burton's house, ringing up the surprised servants, shortly after.