It was plain enough that Gowan admired Dolly, but other men had admired her before; the sting of it was that this fellow, with his cool airs and graces and tantalizing repose of manner, had no need to hold back if he could win her. There would be no need for him to plan and pinch and despair; no need for faltering over odd shillings and calculating odd pence; _he_ could marry her in an hour if she cared for him, and he could surround her with luxuries, and dress her like a queen, and make her happy, as she deserved to be. And then the poor fellow's heart would beat fiercely, and the very blood would tremble in his veins, at the mere thought of giving her up. One night after they had been sitting together, and Gowan had just left the room with Phil, Dolly glanced up from her work and saw her lover looking at her with a face so pale and wretched that she was thrown into a passion of fear. She tossed her work away in a second, and, making one of her little rushes at him, was caught in his arms and half suffocated. She knew the instant she caught sight of his face what he was suffering, though perhaps she did not know the worst. “Oh, why will you?” she cried out, in tears, all at once. “It is cruel! You are as pale as death, and I know--I know so well what it means.” “Tell me you will never forget what we have been to each other,” he said, when he could speak; “tell me you don't care for that fellow,--tell me you love me, Dolly, tell me you love me.” She did not hesitate a moment; she had never flirted with Griffith in her life, and she knew him too well to try him when he wore that desperate, feverish look of longing in his eyes. She burst into an impetuous sob, and clung to him with both hands. “I love you with all my soul,” she said. “I will never _let_ you give me up; and as to forgetting, I might die, but I could never forget. Care for Ralph Gowan! I love _you_, Griffith, I love _you!_” “And you don't regret?” he said, piteously. “Oh, Dolly, just think of what _he_ could give you; and then think of our hopeless dreams about miserable six-roomed houses and cheap furniture.” “You will make me hate him,” cried Dolly, her gust of love and pity making her fierce. “I don't want anything anybody could give me. I only want you, _dear_ old fellow,--_darling_ old fellow,” holding him fast, as if she would never let him go, and shedding a shower of impassioned, tender tears. “Oh, my darling, only wait until I am your own wife, and see how happy I will be, and how happy I will make you,--for I _can_ make you happy,--and see how I will work in our little home for your sake, and how content I will be with a little. Oh, what must I do to show you how I love you! Do you think I could have cared for Ralph Gowan all these years as I have cared for you? No indeed; but I shall care for you forever, and I would wait for you a _thousand_ years if I might only be your wife, and die in your arms at the end of it.”