"You puzzle me greatly," said Robin. "What favor can any lady desire of a man as good as dead?" "Why—that’s just where it is—an’ you were not condemned to die, you could do nothing for my lady." "My lady! And who is your lady, may I ask?" "I’ll tell that presently; but first, before I reveal her name, tell me one thing truly. Are you married?" "Married? No, the Saints be praised! but how can that concern your lady? Does she wish to marry me, perchance?" cried Robin ironically. "That is just what she does wish," said Margaret, as demurely as though she had really been the waiting-maid she feigned to be. "And for a token, she sends you this." And she threw down before him the wallet he had flung into Prue’s lap on Bleakmoor. He took it up, recognizing it with a whirling brain. The whole scene sprang up before him as under a sudden illumination—the gathering darkness and the falling rain—the old chariot, with its steaming horses and frightened servants—and by the light of his lantern, the lovely face of a girl, with her hood thrown back and a tangle of dark curls against the milky whiteness of her neck. He saw the round, bare arms and tapering hands extended, to show that she had no jewels about her, the roguish smile disclosing the little even teeth and sparkling in the depths of the starry eyes, and for a moment his lips once more brushed her scarlet mouth, and the perfume of her breath again clouded his brain. Margaret watched him with amusement, as his face disclosed something of the varying emotions, over which amazement predominated. "Does that surprise you?" she inquired mockingly. "Sure, ’tis no uncommon thing for a man to pay for a kiss with a wedding-ring!" "There must be some other reason," he said, more to himself than in reply to her. "That kiss meant nothing to _her_." "Did it mean anything to you?" asked Margaret, beginning to feel interested. "To me?" His face was suddenly irradiated. "You, who bask in the light of that incomparable loveliness all the time, can never understand what it means to the man who sees it for the first time—and not only sees, but touches!—touches with his unworthy lips that cheek of down—those lips! Ah! how many times since have I felt the thrill of that kiss, and wondered if she could recall it without horror." "Well, horror can scarcely be the sentiment you inspired, since she wishes to marry you," simpered Peggie. The mist of passion suddenly cleared from his eyes, and he bent on her so steady and penetrating a glance, that her eyes fell, and she waited nervously for his next words to give the cue to his thoughts. "Ha! she wishes to marry me?" he said slowly. "Is it an honest wish of her own, or is it a trap set by some one else?" "Oh! indeed, it is entirely her own idea!" cried Margaret eagerly; "not a soul has any suspicion of it but herself and me, and if you refuse, you will not even know her name, and the secret will be buried in your grave."