"I can not be your blessing now, Hugh;" and then she drew herself from his embrace. "Do you remember this place, dear? It was on this bowlder that I was sitting that evening when you found me and asked me to be your wife. We have had some happy days since then, Hugh, have we not? and now to-night I have asked you to meet me here, that you may hear from my lips that I shall never be any man's wife, most certainly not yours, Hugh--my Hugh--whom I love ten thousand times more than I have ever loved you before." A pained, surprised look passed over Hugh's handsome face. It was evident that he had not expected this. The next moment he gave a short derisive laugh. "So my father has made mischief between us; he has actually made you believe it would be a sin to marry me. My darling, what nonsense; I know all about your poor mother--many families have this sort of thing; do you think that ever keeps people from marrying? If we had known before, as I told my father, well, perhaps it might have made a difference, but now it is too late, nothing would ever induce me to give you up, Margaret; in my eyes you are already as bound to me as though you were my wife. My father has nothing to do with it--this is between you and me." "Hugh, listen to me; I have promised Sir Wilfred that I will never marry you." "Then your promise must be null and void; you are mine, and I claim you, Margaret." "No, no!" she returned, shrinking from him; "I will never be any man's wife. I have told Raby so, and he says I am right." "Margaret, are you mad to say such things to me? I am not a patient man, and you are trying me too much," and Hugh's eyes flashed angrily. "Do you want me to doubt your love?" "Do not make it too hard for me," she pleaded. "Do you think this costs me nothing--that I do not suffer too? You will not be cruel to me, Hugh, because I am obliged to make you unhappy. It is not I, but the Divine Will that has interposed this barrier to our union. Ah, if Raby or I had but known, all this would have been spared you." "It is too late," returned Hugh, gloomily; "you have no longer the right to dispose of yourself, you are mine--how often am I to tell you that? Do you think that I will ever consent to resign you, that I could live my life without you. What do I care about your mother? Such things happen again and again in families, and no one thinks of them. If I am willing to abide by the consequences, no one else has a right to object." Poor Hugh! he was growing more sore and angry every moment. He had anticipated some trouble from Margaret's interview with his father; he knew her scrupulous conscience, and feared that a long and weary argument might be before him, but he had never really doubted the result. Life without Margaret would be simply insupportable; he could not grasp the idea for a moment.