her out of your house?"

"She must manage it as best she can. But no; I would not turn her
from my door for all the world could do for me. This, too, will be
part of the punishment that I must bear. You can settle the day
between you, I suppose, and then you can come down; and, after the
accustomed fashion, you can meet her at the church-door. Then you can
come to my house, and eat your breakfast there if you will. You will
see fine things prepared for you,--such as a woman wants on those
occasions,--and then you can carry her off wherever you please. I
need know nothing of your whereabouts. Good morning now. Do not say
anything further, but let me go my way."

CHAPTER XXII.

JOHN GORDON WRITES A LETTER.

When they parted in the park, Mr Whittlestaff trudged off to his own
hotel, through the heat and sunshine. He walked quickly, and never
looked behind him, and went as though he had fully accomplished his
object in one direction, and must hurry to get it done in another. To
Gordon he had left no directions whatever. Was he to be allowed to go
down to Mary, or even to write her a letter? He did not know whether
Mary had ever been told of this wonderful sacrifice which had been
made on her behalf. He understood that he was to have his own way,
and was to be permitted to regard himself as betrothed to her, but
he did not at all understand what steps he was to take in the matter,
except that he was not to go again to the diamond-fields. But Mr
Whittlestaff hurried himself off to his hotel, and shut himself up in
his own bedroom,--and when there, he sobbed, alas! like a child.

The wife whom he had won for himself was probably more valuable to
him than if he had simply found her disengaged and ready to jump into
his arms. She, at any rate, had behaved well. Mr Whittlestaff had no
doubt proved himself to be an angel, perfect all round,--such a man
as you shall not meet perhaps once in your life. But Mary, too, had
so behaved as to enhance the love of any man who had been already
engaged to her. As he thought of the whole story of the past week,
the first idea that occurred to him was that he certainly had been
present to her mind during the whole period of his absence. Though
not a word had passed between them, and though no word of absolute
love for each other had even been spoken before, she had been steady
to him, with no actual basis on which to found her love. He had
known, and she had been sure, and theref