"Well, perhaps not; perhaps your aunt ought to be considered. In that case I would go back myself to-night--it would be best for me to do so; her ladyship might want me, and I know I'd be in the right to go back, and as quickly as possible. Well, we'll go and see your aunt now; only, before we visit her, I want you to make me a promise. You will come to London--you will take up the old life for my sake?" I looked him in the eyes. "Do you want this very, very badly?" I said. "I want it more than anything on earth." "And wanting it so badly," I said very sadly, "you yet would have pretended to be glad if I had said 'Yes' to Lord Hawtrey?" "I might have, there's no saying. I'd have had your house to come to then; but that's out of the question, and needn't be thought of. You'll come back to me, Heather, when your aunt can spare you?" "Yes, I will come," I said, and then I kissed him, and we walked slowly back from the Downs, my hand clasped in his. Aunt Penelope was better; the doctor had been again, and was pleased with her. Jonas, in his very best suit, his face shining with soap and water, gave us the good news on our arrival. There was a nice little lunch waiting for us in the tiny dining-room, and my father, as he expressed it, was "downright hungry." "Delicious, this cold beef and salad tastes," he said. "Upon my word, there's nothing like plain food; one does get sick to death of made-up dishes." I helped him to the best that my aunt's little table could afford, and then I ran softly up to her room. She was lying high up in bed, her eyes were bright, and she was watching for me. "Well, child; well?" "You are better, aren't you, auntie?" "Better? I am all right, child; what about yourself?" "I am quite well, of course." "Heather, is that poor man, your father, downstairs?" "He is." "Has he expressed a wish to see me?" "He has come back for the purpose." "I will see him; only he must be quiet, in order to prevent my coughing. If I start coughing again I may get really bad; you tell him that. Heather, my love, you're not going to leave me, are you?" "Not at present, at any rate," I said. "Kiss me, dear. You are a very good girl; you take after your mother. You have got her patient, steadfast light in your eyes. Now send that father of yours up, and tell him, whatever he does, to be careful that he doesn't set me coughing." I ran downstairs, and gave my father Aunt Penelope's message. He said: "Poor old girl! I'll be careful, right enough," and then he went softly and slowly upstairs. I watched until he was out of sight; then I ran quickly into the little drawing-room. I had not a minute to lose, and I would not delay. I would not postpone setting a seal on my own fate for a single moment.