“I do believe it!” she exclaimed, earnestly. He took both her hands in his, and pressed them. “When I do other,” he said, with emphasis, “turn your face from me, and speak to me never more.” She returned the pressure of his hands, then she said to him, with downcast eyes and a slightly lowered tone-- “You have seen your father, Mark, and you have told him how much you have honoured me in selecting me to be your wife.” “How much I am honoured by your consent to have me, my sweet Lotte,” interposed Mark, almost fiercely. “Yes, Lotte, I told him all. I told him that my heart and happiness were bound up in you; that if I did not have you, neither wealth nor station would ever compensate me for your loss; that, in fact, they would only heighten my anguish and unhappiness, so I had determined to marry you--having your consent--and there was an end of the matter. So, in solemn truth and honour, I have; and here I am, Lotte, darling, for you to name the day.” “But what said Mr. Wilton in reply?” asked Lotte, looking him steadfastly in the face. Mark turned his eyes askance. “What does it signify, Lotte,” he exclaimed, evasively, “what _he_ said? My happiness is all invested in you; if you love me, yours is equally centred in me. I have enough to keep us both in comfort and happiness, and some day I shall be as wealthy as my father now is. Oh! Lotte, we will live with each other and for each other, you, my dear little wife, thinking of and caring only for your faithful husband, and I--I, Lotte, exhausting every plan to complete and perfect for you a peaceful, happy existence.” “But, dear Mark, what said Mr. Wilton?” persisted Lotte, looking grave and even sad. “He is an old man, Lotte, and obstinate,” replied Mark, with some little vehemence; “he is selfish, vain, arrogant, upstart----” Lotte raised up her soft white hand to his mouth-- “Your father,” she said--“still your father.” “Even so, Lotte; yet he, too, should remember that I am his son,” exclaimed Mark, with some excitement, “his son, Lotte, not his serf, his slave, his dog. He should recollect, Lotte, that my happiness is of as much importance to me as pride of position to him; and he should not overlook the fact that I don’t care a--that I don’t care that”--he snapped his fingers--“to be great and grande if I am to be unhappy in my elevation.” “I am to understand by this,” said Lotte, very calmly, though sadly, “that he has refused to give his consent to receive me into his family, as your wife--you will not trifle with my feelings, Mark, on this point, I am sure.” Mark remained silent. She laid her hand upon his arm softly. “Answer me, Mark!” she said, gently. He looked into her soft appealing eyes, he passed his arm round her waist, and pressed her to his bosom. “I will do or say aught you wish me, Lotte, but do not ask me to wound your feelings,” he said, in a low, earnest tone.