It was a dangerous card to play, this mention of his rival’s name, but it won the game. Dennis was as true as steel, but through a modest mistrust of his own merits—a thing that did not trouble William Henry—he was a backward lover. He had had opportunities of declaring himself which he had neglected, thinking of himself too lowlily, or that the time was not yet ripe; or preferring the hope that lies in doubt, to the despair that is begotten of denial; and this, I think, had a little piqued the girl. She liked him well enough, well enough even to marry him; but she liked William Henry better, and other things being equal, would have preferred him for a husband. They were not equal, but it was possible—just possible, for the moment she had caught from her reputed cousin some of that confidence he felt in his own powers—that they might be made so. At all events, six months was not a space to ‘delve the parallels in beauty’s brow;’ and then it was so hard to deny him. ‘You shall have your chance, Willie,’ she murmured, ‘though, as I have warned you, it is a very poor one.’ He drew her nearer to him, despite some pretence of resistance, and would have touched her cheek with his lips, when the cottage door was suddenly thrown open behind them, and Mr. Erin appeared with an old chair in his hands, which he brandished like a quarter-staff above his head. He looked so flushed and excited that William Henry thought his audacious proposal had been overheard, and that he was about to be separated from his Margaret for ever by a violent death. ‘It is mine! It is mine!’ cried the antiquary triumphantly. ‘I have bought Anne Hathaway’s chair.’ CHAPTER VI. AN AUDACIOUS CRITICISM. IN the case of crime, every person who is concerned in its detection looks very properly to motive: the law, indeed, in its award of punishment, disregards it, but then, as a famous authority (and himself in authority), namely, Mr. Bumble, observes, ‘the law is a hass.’ Where mankind falls into error is in looking for motive in all cases, whether criminal or otherwise. A very large number of persons are actuated by causes for which motive is far too serious a term. They are often moved by sudden impulse, nay, even by whim or caprice, to take very important steps. When interrogated, after the mischief has been done, as to why they did this or that, they reply, ‘I don’t know,’ and are discredited. Yet, as a matter of fact, the motive was so slight, or rather so momentary (for it was probably strong enough while it lasted), that they have really forgotten all about it.