"Not at all. Cannot a poor, ugly girl love a man--noble, wise and good--and never let him know it, and never expect that it will be returned? I have heard a tale of a Catholic saint, that he wore a chain of barbed iron about his body, under his clothing, where it ate into his flesh and cankered his blood; but none suspected it. He went about his daily tasks, and laughed with the merry-makers; yet all the while the barbs were working deeper into him, and he suffered. There may be many poor, ill-favoured--ay, and well-favoured--wenches like that saint. They have their thorny braids about their hearts, and hide them under gay bodices, that none suspect aught. But--God forgive me," said Bessie, humbly, with soft, faltering voice--"God pardon me that I spoke of this as a chain of iron barbs, festering the blood. It is not so. There is no iron there at all, and no fester whatsoever--only very long-drawn pains, and now and then, a little pure, honest blood runs from the wound. There, Fox, I have shown this only to thee. No one else knows thereof, and I have shown it thee only as a reason why I cannot love thee." Fox Crymes made a grimace. Bessie stepped along her way. Fox followed. Presently she turned, hearing his steps, with a gesture of surprise, and said, "What, not gone yet?" "No, Bessie, I admire thee the more, and I do not even now give over the pursuit. I would yet learn, hast thou any thought that he whom thou lovest will be thine." "No! no! never; I do not desire it." "Not desire it?" "Nay, for he has loved another; he has never given me a thought. I must not say that. Kind and good he has ever been--a friend; but he can and will be nothing more." "There you mistake, Bessie. When he learns that you are the heiress to Hall his eyes will be wonderfully opened to your charms, and he will come and profess he ever loved thee." He spoke bitterly, laying bare his own base motives in so doing. But Bessie was too guileless to suspect him. She reared herself up; his words conveyed such a slight on the honor of Luke that she could not endure it. "Never! never!" she said, and her eyes flashed through her tears. "Oh, Fox! if you knew who he was you would never have said that." "But if he should come and solicit thy hand?" "He cannot. He has told me that he loved another." She resumed her walk. Fox continued to attend her, in silence. He was puzzled what line to adopt. What she had told him had surprised and discomfited him. That Bessie--the ordinary, plain-faced, methodical Bessie--should have had her romance was to him a surprise.