Lord Brockenhurst coloured and was confused, but only for a little. 'Dear Madame,' he said, 'since you will not give an interview alone I must make the best of the presence of others.' 'They know everything,' said Madame. He bowed. 'I have told you,' he said, 'that I have brought out and delivered over to the Governor your full pardon and release. These papers are a copy.' Jenny pushed them aside. 'I do not want to see them,' she said, 'let me never be reminded of their existence. Take them, Will, and lock them up.' I received them and placed them in my pocket. 'That done, Madame,' he went on, 'I have only to invite your remembrance of a certain proposal that--I believe you have not forgotten it. Since your worthy cousins know what that proposal was I have only to say that once more, most divine woman, I offer myself--my name and rank--my fortune and possessions--at your feet.' He fell on his knees and took her hand. Jenny turned away her face. 'Answer him, Alice--tell him what I have so often told you. Rise, my Lord. Do not pain me by kneeling at my unworthy feet.' 'My Lord,' said Alice solemnly, 'there is no one in the world--believe me--whom Jenny regards with greater respect and gratitude than yourself.' 'Respect and gratitude are but cold words,' he said. 'Let me add with greater love. Your Lordship is the only man in the world whom she has ever loved or could love. That also, believe me, is most true.' 'Why, then----' He held out his hand. 'Nay, my Lord. Jenny loves you so well that nothing would induce her to accept the honour of your proposal.' 'How? Loves me so well?' 'Jenny bids me tell you that the time would come when your children would ask who was their mother, and who were her mother's friends. They would learn her history, I need not remind you of her history. You know it all. Jenny loves you too well to bring shame and discredit on a noble House. Your children, she says, must have a mother worthy of yourself.' 'There is no more worthy woman in the world than Jenny!' 'Their mother must have an unblemished name, my Lord, worthy of your own. She knows you to be so good and loyal that you could never reproach her with the past. But it belongs to her. And, my Lord, it must not belong to you.' 'It must not; it shall not,' Jenny repeated through her tears. 'Is this your answer, Jenny? Oh! Jenny, will you cast me off for such a scruple?' 'I must--I must. Go, my Lord. Think of me no more. Why'--she sprang to her feet--'what could I expect? I--the Orange Girl--the daughter of the Black Jack--the friend of thieves; the Newgate Prisoner; the transported convict? A coronet? For me? the hand of a noble gentleman? the name of a noble house? For me? Fie upon you, my Lord, for thinking of such a thing! Remember what is due to a gentleman. And I thank you--oh! I thank you--you can never know how much--for thinking--you the only one--of nothing less or lower. Go, my Lord. Tempt me no more. I know what I must do. Farewell.'