“Miss Goulburn,” he said, “this is not the time to talk of such things, is it? I am going back to India soon; and I want to marry. I know it sounds brutal what I am saying. If you will marry me, it would be one way of settling all this. We could see him placed comfortably somewhere out of the way, in Spain perhaps, and you would not need to go home to be troubled by what is said. It is wicked that you should be dragged about, you so innocent as you are, flying from one place to another. I cannot bear to think of it. Even your name---- Will you take mine, Helen? If you would do it, I cannot tell you how happy it would make me. I never had any hope; but this has always been in my mind since that school-feast when you were only a little girl.” Helen did not remember anything about the school-feast. She was perplexed by this reference to it which clouded over the sharp distinctness of the proposal which preceded it. And when he paused she could not speak, she was struck dumb, half by the sudden business-like character of the proposal, and half by the wonder of it. She had never thought (had she? she was not so sure after the first moment) of anything of the sort. She stood bewildered, and gazed blankly at him in the blackness of the night. “I have been too hasty, and frightened you. I knew I should; but how can I help it? There is no time to lose. Tell me only one thing: you are not going to marry any one else?” “Oh no, no,” said Helen; then she added simply, “No one has ever asked me before.” He came a little closer and took her hand. “I thought you must have seen at Sainte-Barbe,” he said. “I was half out of my mind with joy to see you, and next day miserable when I found you had gone. Helen, if you think you could like me, there will be plenty, plenty of love on my side. And think what a motive I should have to take care of your father. We could settle him somewhere--you and I together--where he would be safe, quite safe. And after a while they will give up thinking about him. It would be for his advantage,” said the young man earnestly. “Give me a little hope, and I will keep John off--he shall never suspect. No,” cried Charley, vehemently, “I will not make any condition. I will keep John off, anyhow; you may calculate upon me. I will be your watchman to keep danger away, whether you give me hope or not.” “Mr Ashton,” said Helen, “you are very, very kind. How can I give you what I have not got? Hope! I have not any. Before you came I felt as if I must give up, and let things happen as they would.” “But you don’t feel that now?” he said eagerly; “you think it is worth while to try again, to fight your best, however hard it may be, not to give in? That is what you feel now?” “Yes; it is you that have given me hope; not that I can give it you.”