"Yes, but you cannot take this, father dear!" she said softly. "It would be humiliation to us both. If we are very poor, and Clive loves me, he will love my dear father too. You must not take this, dear. It would be doubly painful after mistrusting him as you did." "Then I have done right," cried the Major cheerfully. "You have refused." "Yes. I was sorely tempted, my darling, for I felt how I was bringing you down to poverty; that I was no longer in a position to--to--Oh, hang it, Dinah," cried the old man, with the tears in his eyes, "I would sooner march through a storm of bullets than go through this." "Clive loves me for myself, dearest father," said Dinah, drawing his convulsed face down upon her bosom, to hide the weak tears of bitterness; "and it is not as if you were living in London. Our wants are so few here, and there are the few hundred pounds which you have often told me came from my dearest mother." "No, no; that could not be touched," cried the Major, very firmly now. "That was to be your wedding portion, child." "There is no question of money between us, father," said Dinah proudly. "I tell you again Clive loves me for myself, and there is a wedding portion here within my heart that can never fail. No, dearest, you cannot take this gift from my husband. You are rich in yourself as an English gentleman, and with your honourable name." A spasm shot through the Major, and his face contracted and looked older. "There," continued Dinah, "that is all at an end. Only we will economise, and live more simply, dear. But tell me I am right." "Always right, my darling," cried the Major. "There, you have taken a heavy load from my breast. Hang it, yes, pet. We have our home and garden, and there is my preserve. A bit of bread of old Martha's best, and a dish of trout of my own catching, or a bird or two. Bah! who says we're poor?" "Who would not envy us for being so rich?" cried Dinah, smiling. "To be sure. And when my lord of the mines comes down," cried the Major merrily, "we'll be haughty with him, and let him see that it is a favour to be allowed to partake of our hermitage fare, eh?" "Yes, yes," cried Dinah, with childlike glee, though her eyes were still wet with tears. "But, father dear," she faltered, "there is one thing I want to say." "Yes, my darling?" "This man who is lying ill." "Yes, yes. We must do all we can." "No, father," she said, speaking more firmly now. "We cannot go to him." "Eh! Why not?" "Because--because," faltered Dinah, with her voice sounding husky. Then growing strong, and her eyes looking hard and glittering, "Soon after he came down here, he began to follow me about." "What! The scoundrel!" roared the Major. "And one day he spoke to me--and insulted me." "The dog--the miserable hound. But--here, Dinah--why was I not told of this?" "Because, dear--I thought it better--I felt that I could not speak--I--"