“Patty,” he said, after a minute’s pause, during which she had looked full into his face with all the force of her bright eyes; “I have come from London to-day, straight down here to Oxney, and from my aunt’s house close upon your footsteps after you, to ask you that one question—Do you love me?” “What a Hercules!” she said, again laughing. “Do you really mean that you left London only this morning? Why, you must have been five hours in a railway carriage and two in a postchaise, not to talk of the walk afterwards. You ought to take more care of yourself, Captain Broughton!” He would have been angry with her—for he did not like to be quizzed—had she not put her hand on his arm as she spoke, and the softness of her touch had redeemed the offence of her words. “All that I have done,” said he, “that I may hear one word from you.” “That any word of mine should have such potency! But let us walk on, or my father will take us for some of the standing stones of the moor. How have you found your aunt? If you only knew the cares that have sat on her dear shoulders for the last week past, in order that your high mightiness might have a sufficiency to eat and drink in these desolate half-starved regions!” “She might have saved herself such anxiety. No one can care less for such things than I do.” “And yet I think I have heard you boast of the cook of your club.” And then again there was silence for a minute or two. “Patty,” said he, stopping again in the path; “answer my question. I have a right to demand an answer. Do you love me?” “And what if I do? What if I have been so silly as to allow your perfections to be too many for my weak heart? What then, Captain Broughton?” “It cannot be that you love me, or you would not joke now.” “Perhaps not, indeed,” she said. It seemed as though she were resolved not to yield an inch in her own humour. And then again they walked on. “Patty,” he said once more, “I shall get an answer from you to-night,—this evening; now, during this walk, or I shall return to-morrow, and never revisit this spot again.” “Oh, Captain Broughton, how should we ever manage to live without you?” “Very well,” he said; “up to the end of this walk I can hear it all;—and one word spoken then will mend it all.”