‘I shall hardly believe that it has not been all a dream!’ she said, with a childish instinct to cry at his withdrawal. ‘There will be nothing left of last night—nothing of my dress, nothing of my pleasure, nothing of the place!’ ‘You shall remember it in this way,’ said he. ‘We’ll cut our initials on this tree as a memorial, so that whenever you walk this path you will see them.’ Then with a knife he inscribed on the smooth bark of a beech tree the letters M.T., and underneath a large X. ‘What, have you no Christian name, sir?’ she said. ‘Yes, but I don’t use it. Now, good-bye, my little friend.—What will you do with yourself to-day, when you are gone from me?’ he lingered to ask. ‘Oh—I shall go to my granny’s,’ she replied with some gloom; ‘and have breakfast, and dinner, and tea with her, I suppose; and in the evening I shall go home to Silverthorn Dairy, and perhaps Jim will come to meet me, and all will be the same as usual.’ ‘Who is Jim?’ ‘O, he’s nobody—only the young man I’ve got to marry some day.’ ‘What!—you engaged to be married?—Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ ‘I—I don’t know, sir.’ ‘What is the young man’s name?’ ‘James Hayward.’ ‘What is he?’ ‘A master lime-burner.’ ‘Engaged to a master lime-burner, and not a word of this to me! Margery, Margery! when shall a straightforward one of your sex be found! Subtle even in your simplicity! What mischief have you caused me to do, through not telling me this? I wouldn’t have so endangered anybody’s happiness for a thousand pounds. Wicked girl that you were; why didn’t you tell me?’ ‘I thought I’d better not!’ said Margery, beginning to be frightened. ‘But don’t you see and understand that if you are already the property of a young man, and he were to find out this night’s excursion, he may be angry with you and part from you for ever? With him already in the field I had no right to take you at all; he undoubtedly ought to have taken you; which really might have been arranged, if you had not deceived me by saying you had nobody.’ Margery’s face wore that aspect of woe which comes from the repentant consciousness of having been guilty of an enormity. ‘But he wasn’t good enough to take me, sir!’ she said, almost crying; ‘and he isn’t absolutely my master until I have married him, is he?’ ‘That’s a subject I cannot go into. However, we must alter our tactics. Instead of advising you, as I did at first, to tell of this experience to your friends, I must now impress on you that it will be best to keep a silent tongue on the matter—perhaps for ever and ever. It may come right some day, and you may be able to say “All’s well that ends well.” Now, good morning, my friend. Think of Jim, and forget me.’ ‘Ah, perhaps I can’t do that,’ she said, with a tear in her eye, and a full throat. ‘Well—do your best. I can say no more.’ He turned and retreated into the wood, and Margery, sighing, went on her way. CHAPTER VI.