'Marie, you are betrothed to this man, and you must consent to become his wife. Say that you will consent, and all this nonsense shall be forgotten.' She did not say that she would consent; but she did not say that she would not, and he thought that he might persuade her, if he could speak to her as he ought. But he doubted which might be most efficacious, affection or severity. He had assured himself that it would be his duty to be very severe, before he gave up the point; but it might be possible, as she was so sweet with him, so loving and so gracious, that affection might prevail. If so, how much easier would the task be to himself! So he put his arm round her, and stooped down and kissed her. 'O, Uncle Michel,' she said; 'dear, dear Uncle Michel; say that you will spare me, and be on my side, and be good to me.' 'My darling girl, it is for your own good, for the good of us all, that you should marry this man. Do you not know that I would not tell you so, if it were not true? I cannot be more good to you than that.' 'I can--not, Uncle Michel.' 'Tell me why, now. What is it? Has anybody been bringing tales to you?' 'Nobody has brought any tales.' 'Is there anything amiss with him?' 'It is not that. It is not that at all. I am sure he is an excellent young man, and I wish with all my heart he had a better wife than I can ever be.' 'He thinks you will be quite good enough for him.' 'I am not good for anybody. I am very bad.' 'Leave him to judge of that.' 'But I cannot do it, Uncle Michel. I can never be Adrian Urmand's wife.' 'But why, why, why?' repeated Michel, who was beginning to be again angered by his own want of success. 'You have said that a dozen times, but have never attempted to give a reason.' 'I will tell you the reason. It is because I love George with all my heart, and with all my soul. He is so dear to me, that I should always be thinking of him. I could not help myself. I should always have him in my heart. Would that be right, Uncle Michel, if I were married to another man?' 'Then why did you accept the other man? There is nothing changed since then.' 'I was wicked then.' 'I don't think you were wicked at all;--but at any rate you did it. You didn't think anything about having George in your heart then.' It was very hard for her to answer this, and for a moment or two she was silenced. At last she found a reply. 'I thought everything was dead within me then,--and that it didn't signify. Since that he has been here, and he has told me all.' 'I wish he had stayed where he was with all my heart. We did not want him here,' said the innkeeper in his anger. 'But he did come, Uncle Michel. I did not send for him, but he did come.'