“I do not want to be cruel,” she said; “but oh! wouldn’t it do to wait--to wait a little? It is only three years; I am very near eighteen. I shall be eighteen in November; and three years go so quickly. Why do you look at me like that? I am not unkind. It is only that I think; it is only that--oh! I am sure that would be the best!” “Three years!” he said; “you might as well bid me wait thirty years. How can I be sure you will not forget _me_ long before three years are out? What! live without knowing anything of you--without seeing you, for three centuries--it would be all the same. Tell me to go out into St. Andrew’s Bay in a storm, and be cast away on the rocks--tell me to drown myself in the Eden--as you please, Margaret! I think it is in me to do it if you bid me; but wait for three years and never see you--never know what you are thinking, never hear the sound of your voice? I had rather go and hang myself at once!” cried Rob. He was walking up and down under the shadow of the trees. He was very much excited. After coming so far, after holding her in his hand, as he thought, was he going to lose her at the last? “I did not mean that”--she stood leaning against the fir, very much troubled--“what can I do? Oh, what am I to do?” “You must not ask me to be content without you,” he said, “for I cannot-- I cannot. It is not possible for me to give you up and live without you now. If you had sent me away at the very first, perhaps-- But after all that has passed, Margaret, after feeling that you were mine, to ask me to go away and give you up--now!” “I did not say give me up; I said--” “You said three years, darling--three lifetimes; you could not mean anything so dreadful! You would not kill me, would you? It is like taking my heart out of my breast. What good would there be in the world for me? What could I do? What would I be fit for? Margaret, Margaret! you could not have the heart to treat me so!” “What can I do?” she said, trembling. “Ludovic has found out about you, and he asked me to give you up. I did not mean to tell you, but I cannot help it. He says they will never, never consent. And what am _I_ to do? How can I fight with them? I said I would not give you up. I said it would break your heart.” “And so it would, my darling!” he cried, coming to her side, putting his arm round her; “and, oh, my Margaret, yours too!” Margaret made no reply to this. She withdrew the least little step--but how could she hurt his feelings? “That was why I said three years,” she said; “three years is not so very long. Poor Jeanie in the house, did you ever see Jeanie? She is--very fond of some one; and she has not heard of him at all or seen him, for two years. It would pass very fast. You would become a great painter--and then; but Jeanie does not know if she will ever see him again; and his name is Rob, too, like you.”