"Duvel!" she flashed out, using the Romany oath with a shaking of her stick; "the black curse on the pair o' ye! Death to her, an' sorrow to ye. One shall be taken, the other left. Ho, ho! how will ye look then, my delicate rye? you an' the squire, wi' death houlding your gude maid in his maw. I overlook mum, I du; an' so ye've the worth of your gowld from the impostor!" After which fiery speech Mrs. Jimboy crawled away without as much as a glance behind her. Soon she dwindled to a scarlet spot on the distant greenness; and Milly, hitherto motionless, began to recover from her fears. Some red-tiled houses were visible on the edge of the common; through the golden glories of gorse blossom wound the high-road, broad and dusty; and over all arched the cloudless azure of the sky. Save the two young people, no human being was in sight; and they looked silently at one another, weighing and considering the ominous words of the gipsy--her early refusal to speak; her pointed use of the sinister word "murder;" and her fierce casting of words and money. These were the things which took the colour from the cheeks of the couple, and made them eye each other with secret apprehensions. "I'll go home now," said Milly abruptly, and she turned her face towards the square tower of a distant church. Lovel walked quickly after her and laid a detaining hand on her arm. "Don't go yet," he entreated. "My dear Milly----" "You have no right to call me so!" she interrupted sharply. "Then give me the right." "I can't; you know I can't. Why do you say such silly things?" "Why?" burst out Lovel--"because I love you. Listen to me, Milly--now, it is no use your frowning--I shall call you by that name: I love you--I love you!" "Oh!" said Miss Lester with great coolness, "then Miss Clyde----" "I know what you are about to say," he said quickly--"that I love Miss Clyde. But you are wrong. It is true that I admired her, but when you came----" He flung out his hands and caught those of the girl's. "Milly," said he earnestly, "you have brought me to your feet for a jest; that jest must become--earnest. You must marry me." "How you talk!" said Milly fretfully. "You know I can't marry you." "Because of Mr. Herne--a man you don't care for?" "Because of Mr. Herne--to whom I have been engaged for six months." "But you don't care for him!" persisted Lovel. "I care for him sufficiently to marry him," answered the girl evasively. "What is the use of trying to deceive me, Milly? You marry Herne for his money and position." "Well, and what if I do!" cried Miss Lester, flushing; "is it not my duty to do the best I can for myself and my people? What is father?--a poor country doctor with a miserable income. Our house should be called Poverty Villa, it is so wretched; and Iris worries me morn, noon, and night." "But if your sister----"