"Father, I will explain to you; and to you also, at the same time," he added to Ella. "The first time I ever saw this young lady--it was at Mrs. Carlyon's--I fell in love with her. I resolved that she should be my wife, good Providence permitting. Had I been what I then appeared only to be, a correspondent for the newspapers, I might have hesitated to cherish any such hope: knowing myself to be the probable heir of Heron Dyke, certainly of Nunham Priors, I felt the hope was justifiable. In a short while I followed her down here, and got admittance to the Hall, and to Mr. Denison, under the plea of wishing to take sketches of points on the estate: my incipient love for Miss Winter grew into an ardent passion, and I felt assured as to the future. Moreover I saw, or thought I saw, that Heron Dyke would never come to her, but to you; there was that in the Squire's aspect which convinced me he would not live to see his birthday. But now, I must ask you, father, to acknowledge what your course would have been, had I told you this. Should you not have hastened to open negotiations for the alliance with your cousin the Squire?" "Dare say I might." "I am sure of it; and that would have ruined all. The Squire would have laid his positive embargo on the marriage, for I was one of the hated Denisons; and he would have extorted a promise from Miss Winter never to see more of me during his life or after it. So I maintained my incognito to her, and said nothing to you. I might have spoken after the Squire's death, that's true enough; but I wanted her to care for myself alone, not for my prospective fortune. I very nearly told you at Christmas, father; but I thought I would wait just a little longer. Last week I went down to Nunham Priors for the purpose, but found you absent. To-morrow I intended to start for Nunham Priors again, expecting you would by that time be at home." "He should take out a licence for special pleading, he should!" interjected Mr. Denison to Ella. "To hear the neat way he twists and turns things! Where you got your gift o' the gab from, Frank, _I_ don't know. Not from me." Frank smiled. "It is true pleading, father. And you need no longer be under the fear that I shall bring home a black wife." "There's some sense in the 'Dougal creature' yet," muttered the old gentleman, with a flourish of his pocket-handkerchief. "Ah, my dear, what, can I say to him, in what terms can I scold him, when he proffers you to me as his excuse? I can only forgive him, yes, were it a thousand times over!" He drew her to him, and kissed her very tenderly. "You shall be as my daughter--as my own child to me in every way. Heaven has been kinder to me than my deserts--and I am quite sure it has to Frank! And now there will no longer be any question of your quitting the old homestead here." "But it is yours, sir," answered Ella, through her tears.