“I believed it was. When I heard you spoken of as the wealthiest man in this part of the country, I did not despair. It was only when you were cold to me, when you told me we could be only _friends_, that my heart gave up its guest. I did not blame you. I was not a fit mate for one like you. I was not then; still less am I now.” Mary wept. “I did not say we could be only friends, Mary.” “That was what you meant,” sobbed she. “Far from it.” “I thought so. This, and being driven from my father’s house, made me listen to Mr. Buckstone. He loved me--at first; at least, I supposed he did.” “Mary, I am the author of all your miseries and misfortunes.” “O, no, Mr. Hungerford!” “I am; if I had spoken the thought that was in my heart, all this could not have happened. Let me atone for my fault by making you mine now.” “Never, Mr. Hungerford! I should despise myself if I could be so selfish. You know what I am,” said she, bitterly. “Mary, I love you still.” “Nay, you cannot love me now.” “With all my soul. I could have wished that nothing had come between you and me; but I still love you. Why should we be separated?” “I can hear no more, Mr. Hungerford;” and she started to leave the arbor. “Do you hate me now because I did not speak when I should have spoken?” “I never blamed you for turning away from me when your position in society was so changed.” “It was not changed, Mary. I ask nothing now. Perhaps it was wrong for me to speak of these things at the present time, but my heart would not be silent.” “Mr. Hungerford, this subject is painful to me. May I ask you not to speak of it again?” “Never?” “After my brother’s trial, I will give you a final answer.” “I am satisfied, Mary.” They walked back to the house together; and that afternoon Mary returned to The Great Bell. CHAPTER XXII. DICK BIRCH’S SUGGESTION. “Eugene, why doesn’t Dick Birch come here any now?” asked Julia, on the afternoon of Mary’s departure. “He was here a dozen times a day when you were sickest.” “He doesn’t come at all now.” “Do you wish to see him, Julia?” “Certainly I wish to see him. Dick was one of my best friends.” “He is still.” “He hasn’t even called upon me since I got better.” “He explained himself to you the night before the examination of Ross Kingman.” “You had some suspicions of him.” “They were all removed the next day, Julia.” “Why need he have said what he did about me in the court-room? It was town talk for a month.” “He was under oath, and it was dragged out of him; but he didn’t say a word that betrayed a thought of yours, Julia.” “There was not a thought of mine that he could betray,” said she, with some spirit. “I always liked Dick very well; but if he had any thoughts relating to me, he ought to have kept them to himself.” “Dick is honest. He keeps back nothing.”