.

But he did not say them; he said nothing at all; sat leaning his head on
his hand, with an expression so weary, so sad, that all the coaxing ways
of little Davie could hardly win from him more than a faint smile. He
looked so old, too, and he was but just thirty. Only thirty--only
twenty-five; and yet these two were bearing, seemed to have borne for
years, the burden of life, feeling all its hardships and none of its
sweetnesses. Would things ever change? Would he have the courage (it was
his part, not hers) to make them change, at least in one way, by bringing
about that heart-union which to all pure and true natures is consolation
for every human woe?

"I wonder," he said, sitting down and taking David on his knee--"I
wonder if it is best to bear things one's self, or to let another share
the burden?"

Easily--oh, how easily!--could Fortune have answered this--have told him
that, whether he wished it or not, two did really bear his burdens, and
perhaps the one who bore it secretly and silently had not the lightest
share. But she did not speak: it was not possible.

"How shall I hear of you Miss Williams?" he said, after a long silence.
"You are not likely to leave the Dalziel family?"

"No," she answered; "and if I did, I could always be heard of, the
Dalziels are so well known hereabouts. Still, a poor wandering governess
easily drops out of people's memory."

"And a poor wandering tutor too. But I am not a tutor any more, and I
hope I shall not be poor long. Friends can not lose one another; such
friends as you and I have been. I will take care we shall not do it,
that is, if--but never mind that. You have been very good to me, and I
have often bothered you very much, I fear. You will be almost glad to
get rid of me."

She might have turned upon him eyes swimming with tears--woman's
tears--that engine of power which they say no man can ever resist; but I
think, if so, a woman like Fortune would have scorned to use it. Those
poor weary eyes, which could weep oceans alone under the stars, were
perfectly dry now--dry and fastened on the ground, as she replied, in a
grave steady voice,

"You do not believe that, else you would never have said it."

Her composure must have surprised him, for he looked suddenly up, then
begged her pardon. "I did not hurt you, surely? We must not part with
the least shadow of unkindness between us."

"No." She offered her hand, and he took it--gently, affectio