"I do not know what I have done to deserve your love," she said; "but I suppose love never yet was measured by desert. I do know that I cannot give you what the world calls love in return. The only person I ever loved left me to marry another woman. He left me because it was his duty to do so; and I was proud of him because he was so good and true. He is married now, and I have every reason to believe he is happy. There is little chance that he and I will ever meet again; but if we do, we shall meet as strangers. It was my bounden duty to tell you this, Mr. O'Boyneville, before I answered your last question. Has my confession altered your sentiments towards me?" "No, Lady Cecil; it has only made me admire you a little more than I did before. Do you think I expected to win the whole heart of such a woman as you, all at once? No, Cecil; when a man loves the woman he marries as truly as I love you, it must be his own fault if he does not teach her to love him before the end of the chapter, always provided she is a good woman." "And you still offer me your affection?" "I do. As heartily and as unreservedly as I offered it to you in the first instance." "And you will be my friend, my protector, my counsellor, all the wide world to me--for I am very friendless--and will be contented with such gratitude and such affection as a woman gives to the best and dearest friend she has on earth?" "More than content! unutterably happy!" cried Laurence O'Boyneville; "and by Jove it's a quarter to six, and it's as much as I shall do to catch the up-train," he added, in his most business-like manner, as he started to his feet. He only lingered long enough to take Lady Cecil in his arms, as if she had been a baby, to imprint one resounding kiss upon her forehead, and to exclaim, "God bless you, and good-bye, my darling!" and lo, he was gone. "And I shall have a friend--a husband and protector--a home," thought Cecil, with a thrill of happiness, such as she would a few hours before have been slow to believe could have been inspired by Laurence O'Boyneville. She was glad to be bound to some one, to have some one bound to her; glad to be the promised wife of this Irish barrister, whom she had so lately spoken of shudderingly as a dreadful man. CHAPTER XIII. CECIL'S HONEYMOON.