"No;--do not do that." "Nor against you. I am simply here now to let you know that--I retire." "You will not quarrel with me, Arthur?" "Quarrel with you! I could not quarrel with you, if I would. No;--there shall be no quarrel. But I do not suppose we shall see each other very often." "I hope we may." "Sometimes, perhaps. A man should not, I think, affect to be friends with a successful rival. I dare say he is an excellent fellow, but how is it possible that he and I should get on together? But you will always have one,--one besides him,--who will love you best in this world." "No;--no;--no." "It must be so. There will be nothing wrong in that. Every one has some dearest friend, and you will always be mine. If anything of evil should ever happen to you,--which of course there won't,--there would be some one who would--. But I don't want to talk buncum; I only want you to believe me. Good-bye, and God bless you." Then he put out his right hand, holding his hat under his left arm. "You are not going away?" "To-morrow, perhaps. But I will say my real good-bye to you here, now, to-day. I hope you may be happy. I hope it with all my heart. Good-bye. God bless you!" "Oh, Arthur!" Then she put her hand in his. "Oh, I have loved you so dearly. It has been with my whole heart. You have never quite understood me, but it has been as true as heaven. I have thought sometimes that had I been a little less earnest about it, I should have been a little less stupid. A man shouldn't let it get the better of him, as I have done. Say good-bye to me, Emily." "Good-bye," she said, still leaving her hand in his. "I suppose that's about all. Don't let them quarrel with you here if you can help it. Of course at Longbarns they won't like it for a time. Oh,--if it could have been different!" Then he dropped her hand, and turning his back quickly upon her, went away along the path. She had expected and had almost wished that he should kiss her. A girl's cheek is never so holy to herself as it is to her lover,--if he do love her. There would have been something of reconciliation, something of a promise of future kindness in a kiss, which even Ferdinand would not have grudged. It would, for her, have robbed the parting of that bitterness of pain which his words had given to it. As to all that, he had made no calculation; but the bitterness was there for him, and he could have done nothing that would have expelled it.