“We need not crowd ourselves with the table,” he said. “There will be light enough. We only want to talk.” “Very well,” said Marian, rising. “Will you give me that woolen thing that is on the sofa? It will do me for a shawl.” He placed it on her shoulders, and they went out. “I will sit in this corner,” said Marian. “You are too big for the campstool. You had better bring a chair. I am fond of sitting here. When the crimson shade is on the lamp, and papa asleep in its roseate glow, the view is quite romantic: there is something ecstatically snug in hiding here and watching it.” Douglas smiled, and seated himself as she suggested, near her, with his shoulder against the stone balustrade. “Marian,” said he, after a pause: “you remember what passed between us at the Academy yesterday?” “You mean our solemn league and covenant. Yes.” “Why did we not make that covenant before? Life is not so long, nor happiness so common, that we can afford to trifle away two years of it. I wish you had told me when I last came here of that old photograph of mine in your album.” “But this is not a new covenant. It is only an old one mended. We were always good friends until you quarrelled and ran away.” “That was not my fault, Marian.” “Then it must have been mine. However, it does not matter now.” “You are right. Prometheus is unbound now; and his despair is only a memory sanctifying his present happiness. You know why I called on your father this morning?” “It was to see the electro-motor in the city, was it not?” “Good Heavens, Marian!” he said, rising, “what spirit of woman or spirit of mischief tempts you to coquet with me even now?” “I really thought that was the reason—besides, of course, your desire to make papa amends for not having been to see him sooner after your return.” “Marian!” he said, still remonstrantly. She looked at him with sudden dread, and instinctively recognized the expression in his face. “You know as well as I,” he continued, “that I went to seek his consent to our solemn league and covenant, as you call it. If that covenant were written on your heart as it is on mine, you would not inflict on me this pretty petty torture. Your father has consented: he is delighted. Now may I make a guess at that happy secret you told me of yesterday, and promised I should know one day?” “Stop! Wait,” said Marian, very pale. “I must tell you that secret myself.” “Hush. Do not be so moved. Remember that your confession is to be whispered to me alone.” “Dont talk like that. It is all a mistake. My secret has nothing to do with you.” Douglas drew back a little way. “I am engaged to be married.” “What do you mean?” he said sternly, advancing a step and looking down menacingly at her with his hand on the back of his chair.