ent she was seated by his side on the steps; he lifted up his head,
and made a movement, as if he would have risen and taken flight.

"I beg your pardon," he said; "I hardly know myself, how I came to be
sitting here; but I will go upstairs directly--"

"Stop one moment; pray do!" she whispered softly; "I am so glad to find
you here; I had no peace after I had been so cross to you. Forgive
me;--this has been an agitating day to me in many ways; there have been
many things to pain me, and I made you suffer, poor dear, for what you
could not help."

He did not answer, but looked straight before him over the dark
staircase.

"Are you really angry with me?" she asked; he shook his head. "Angry
with you, I never _could_ be, he said mournfully.

"What was it that made you come to me so late?" she began again, after a
short silence. "You wanted something, that I saw by your face, only
just then, I was in such perplexity about my own affairs, as to seem
cross and indifferent to those of others. Would you like to talk to me
now?"

"What good would that do? I shall hear it quite soon enough?"

"Hear what?"

Still no answer; only when she said: "I do believe you are seriously
vexed with me," it came out at last. "Is it true," he murmured, with
averted face; "is it true that you are going to be married to that
man?"

She started; a new sensation, strangely sweet, thrilled to her heart.
She laughed, as we do laugh, to ourselves, when we are quite alone, at
the memory of some delicious moment in the past; of happy love--of
brilliant triumph--of success in some feat of our boyish days. What it
was that delighted her so much, she could scarcely have defined.

"What makes you think such silly things?" she asked, completely
returning to their old footing; "don't you know I shall never be going
to be married to any man? When one has had a great big boy to educate,
and just got him out of the roughest rudiments, one really has no time
for other people; and who would thank me for bringing them such an
unruly step-son? Who put these fancies into your head?"

He told her; and they sate there side by side, for some minutes,
without saying anything.

"No, indeed, my dear boy," she began at last, in a tone of singular
solemnity; "I never mean to go and leave you, for the sake of any human
creature living. It is no sacrifice on my part; and you owe me nothing
for it. I should have to chain up my own heart first of all, were I
ever