y turn that he might press
her arm the closer to his own, that he might look into the brightness of
her eyes, and prolong his hour of delight. There were no more gibes now
on her tongue, no raillery at his London finery, no laughing comments on
his coming and going. With downright honesty she told him everything:
how she had loved him before her heart was warranted in such a passion;
how, with much thinking, she had resolved that it would be unwise to
take him at his first word, and had thought it better that he should
return to London, and then think over it; how she had almost repented
of her courage when she had feared, during those long summer days, that
he would forget her; and how her heart had leapt for joy when her old
friend had told her that he was coming.

'And yet,' said he, 'you were not glad to see me!'

'Oh, was I not glad? You cannot understand the feelings of a girl who
has lived secluded as I have done. Glad is no word for the joy I felt.
But it was not seeing you that I cared for so much. It was the knowledge
that you were near me once again. I almost wish now that I had not seen
you till tomorrow.' But as she spoke she pressed his arm, and this
caress gave the lie to her last words.

'No, do not come in tonight,' she said, when she reached the little
wicket that led up the parsonage. 'Indeed you shall not. I could not
behave myself properly if you did.'

'But I don't want you to behave properly.'

'Oh! I am to keep that for London, am I? But, nevertheless, Captain
Broughton, I will not invite you either to tea or to supper tonight.'

'Surely I may shake hands with your father.'

'Not tonight--not till--. John, I may tell him, may I not? I must tell
him at once.'

'Certainly,' said he.

'And then you shall see him tomorrow. Let me see--at what hour shall I
bid you come?'

'To breakfast.'

'No, indeed. What on earth would your aunt do with her broiled turkey
and the cold pie? I have got no cold pie for you.'

'I hate cold pie.'

'What a pity! But, John, I should be forced to leave you directly after
breakfast. Come down--come down at two, or three; and then I will go
back with you to Aunt Penelope. I must see her tomorrow.' And so at last
the matter was settled, and the happy Captain, as he left her, was
hardly resisted in his attempt to press her lips to his own.

When she entered the parlour in which her father was sitting, there
still were Gribbles and Poulter discussing some knott