“Nay, it will pain me so much not to know the truth, for you know, Mark, I may conjecture much that was never said,” she responded; adding, “tell me, did he not decline to receive me as his daughter-in-law.” Mark set his teeth. In an almost inaudible voice, after some hesitation, he replied-- “He did.” “His objection, Mark--fear not for me--my bruised heart has been too much accustomed to such trials, to faint under learning all he could say of me.” “I cannot repeat his words!” cried Mark, with a burst of feeling. Lotte still urged him. “It is needful Mark, indeed, that I should know,” she said. “Lotte,” exclaimed Mark, taking her hand and pressing it passionately to his lips, “remember, the words I may repeat have had--and never can have--any influence on me.” “Of that I am sure,” she observed. “His objection was that you were poor----” “Yes,” said Lotte, as he paused. . “And low-born,” added Mark, as though the words scorched his throat while finding utterance. A flush of scarlet spread itself over Lotte’s features. She threw up her head with a haughty and indignant air, and her short upper lip trembled with an expression of offended pride. She was about to utter a hasty reply, but she checked herself, disengaged herself from Mark’s encircling arms, and walked in silence to the further end of the room. She hid her face in her handkerchief; for a minute her whole frame seemed convulsed. Mark watched her with eyes half-blinded by scalding tears, and it was only the endeavour to recover the power of speaking clearly that prevented him at once catching her in his arms, bid her banish from her mind all she had heard, and to consent, in spite of what his father had said, to become his bride at the earliest moment possible. He knew not Lotte yet. She was the first to recover calmness, and she returned to where he was standing. “I understand your father’s weakness by my own.” she said. “I pardon the pain it has given me, for I am reminded, by my own poor indignation at being termed low-born, how natural his anger would be at the thought of one so humble as myself being elevated to his side, and made a member of his family, in opposition to all those prejudices of which station and affluence are so fruitful. Well, Heaven knows best. I bow to its decree. The dream, only too glorious to be realised, was sweet, very, very sweet, while it lasted, and I wake once more to be plain Lotte Clinton, the needle-worker----” “To be my wife, Lotte,” cried Mark, passionately; “my wife, my adored, my honoured wife, Lotte----” “Oh! Mark,” she said, in pleading earnestness, “remember our contract.”