This was now, however, soon to be made known to him. On Richard's entrance, her father, who, as well as his wife, knew well of the attachment between the young couple, after hastily saluting him, left the apartment, and was speedily followed by Marion's mother; their object being to give their daughter an opportunity of informing her lover, with her own mouth, of the resolution she had come to regarding his rival. On being left to themselves, Richard went up to Marion, who, seated in a chair, with her pale cheek resting on the back, looked the very image of hopeless despair. On Richard's first entrance, she had not looked towards him at all, nor exhibited any other symptom of a consciousness of his presence. Neither did she yet offer any signs of welcome. Astonished and alarmed at such unusual conduct, Richard took her affectionately by the hand, and anxiously inquired what was the matter. The poor girl burst into tears. "Marion," said her lover, now greatly agitated and perplexed, "what in all the earth is wrong? Will you not tell _me_, Marion?" "O Richard, Richard, do not ask me. I cannot, I will not tell you," said the distracted girl. "Then you desire to make me miserable too, Marion," was the reply. "No, no, Richard; but I cannot tell you what I know will break your heart, as it has already broken mine. My peace is gone for ever, Richard, but it has gone in a good cause." "For Heaven's sake, Marion," said her agonised lover, "tell me, tell me at once what you mean, and do not torture me longer with this strange and unintelligible conduct. It's not using him well, Marion, who hopes to be more to you, one day, than any other person on the face of the earth." "Never, Richard!--never, You can never now be more to me than you are at this moment. That's a' owre, Richard. We maun meet nae mair. I'm gaun to be the wife o' anither." "Marion!" said Richard, his face now overspread with a deadly paleness, and his lips quivering with emotion, "in God's name, what does this mean? Have I done anything to offend you--anything to change your opinion of me?" "No, no, Richard, you have not," said the weeping girl; "but I maun marry John Maitland, to save my puir father and mother frae ruin--to save them frae bein thrown on the cauld charity o' the warld in quest o' their bread." And she now went on to detail the particulars of the situation in which they stood, and concluded by mentioning the promise she had made to her parents to accept of Maitland's addresses. Poor Spalding stood the very personification of misery and wretchedness during the recital of these circumstances, that laid prostrate all his dearest hopes, and wrested from him that happiness which he had fondly believed was within his grasp. For some time he made no reply to, or remark on, what had just been communicated to him; but at length, taking Marion again by the hand.