"Oh!" said I, considerably amused. "I suppose of course he would not pay them on any account without your father's consent?" "Certainly not," answered Amabel, with such grave simplicity that I could not for very shame laugh at her. "That would not be right nor honorable." "And you told him—" "I told him that I was very young to think about such matters, but if his parents and mine saw no objection—" and here she made a pause and steadfastly studied the face of her new watch. "And suppose your father does not consent, and even wished you to marry some one else," said I, rather cruelly, "what will you do then?" "I will obey him so far as I can in conscience—at least till I am of age," she answered. "But there is no use in thinking about that." "True," I answered. "'Sufficient unto the day is evil thereof.' Besides, I do not see why it is not a good match. Mr. Cheriton will have a good estate of his own, as I understand, besides being heir to Lord Carew, in Devonshire, if his poor son dies." "You are not used to be so mercenary, Lucy," said Amabel, with a little indignation in her voice. "I should love—I mean I should like—Mr. Cheriton just as well if he had not a penny to call his own—if he were a poor curate, or a sailor, like young Mr. Thorpe." This was carrying the war into Africa, as Mr. Lilburne's phrase was, and I hastened to parry the unintended attack. "And so should I," I answered. "The question with me is what Sir Julius may like. He is a man of the world, you know, and you are his heiress. He may look for a grander match—some one like Lord Bulmer, for instance." "Lucy!" said Amabel, with flashing eyes. "I would rather lie down in my coffin than marry Lord Bulmer." "And I would almost rather see you there," I rejoined. "The man is detestable to me." Amabel was silent again for several minutes, leaning her head on her hand so that I could not see her face. Then she raised it toward me filled with a kind of solemn brightness. "Lucy, I think I can leave it all in my Father's hands," said she, smiling, though the tears stood on her long lashes. "I am sure He will do what is best for me and for—for Mr. Cheriton. I am quite sure that I shall never marry any one else. That cannot be my duty. But let us not borrow trouble about it. Tell me of your walk. You said you met Mr. Thorpe. Is he really going to-morrow?" "He really is, and he has given me this little whistle made of a crocodile's tooth, though that is not the word—alligator I think he calls it, though 'tis a creature of the same kind. Is it not pretty?" But I did not tell her what he had told me—that whoso receives one of these little amulets will surely never forget the giver. "He is a fine young man," remarked Amabel, after she had admired the little whistle, which had a peculiarly sweet, ringing note. "I shall never forget how he looked when we first saw him, holding up that poor fainting woman. Did you give him nothing in return?"