"Dear Thurston," she said, "if you are seen waiting upon me to church do you know what the people will say? They will say that Marian has a new admirer in Mr. Willcoxen--and that will reach your grandfather's ears, and give you trouble." "Stay! one moment, beautiful Marian! When shall we meet again?" "When Heaven wills." "And when will that be, fairest?" "I do not know; but do not visit me at the cottage, dear Thurston, it would be indiscreet." "Marian! I must see you often. Will you meet me on the beach to-morrow afternoon?" "No," answered Marian, gravely, "in this single instance, I must not meet you, though my heart pleads like a sick child with me to do it, Thurston, dear Thurston." She raised her eyes to his as she spoke, and giving way to a sudden impulse, dropped her head upon his shoulder, put her arms around his neck, and embraced him. And then his better angel rose above the storm of passion that was surging through his veins, and calmed the tumult, and spoke through his lips. "You are right, Marian--fairest and dearest, you are right. And I not only love you best of all women, but honor you more than all men. It shall be as you have said. I will not seek you anywhere. As the mother, dying of plague, denies herself the parting embrace of her 'unstricken' child--so, for your sake, will I refrain from the heaven of your presence." "And, dear Thurston," she said, raising her head, "it will not be so hard to bear, as you now think. We shall see each other every Sunday in the church, and every Monday in the lecture-room. We shall often be of the same invited company at neighbors' houses. Remember, also, that Christmas is coming, with its protracted festivities, when we shall see each other almost every evening, at some little neighborhood gathering. And now I must really hurry; oh! how late I am this morning! Good-by, dearest Thurston!" "Good-by, my own Marian." Blushingly she received, his parting kiss, and hurried along the little foot-path leading to the village. Thurston had been perfectly sincere in his resolution not to seek a private interview with Marian; and he kept it faithfully all the week, with less temptation to break it, because he did not know where to watch for her. But Sunday came again--and Thurston, with a little bit of human self-deception and _finesse_, avoided the forest path, where he had met her the preceding Sabbath, and saying to himself that he would not waylay her, took the river road, refusing to confess even to himself that he acted upon the calculation that she also would take the same road, in order to avoid meeting him in the forest. His "calculus of probabilities" had not failed him. He had not walked far upon the forest-shaded banks of the river before he saw Marian walking before him. He hastened and overtook her.