or some word of answer to his words, and she did love him dearly;
she would have tended him if sick, have supplied him if in want;
have mourned for him if dead, with the bitter grief of true
affection;--but she could not say to herself that he should be her
lord and master, the head of her house, the owner of herself, the
ruler of her life. The shipwreck to which she had once come, and
the fierce regrets which had thence arisen, had forced her to think
too much of these things. "Lily," he said, still facing towards the
mirror, "will you not come to me and speak to me?" She turned round,
and stood a moment looking at him, and then, having again resolved
that it could not be as he wished, she drew near to him. "Certainly
I will speak to you, John. Here I am." And she came close to him.

He took both her hands, and looked into her eyes. "Lily, will you be
mine?"

"No; dear; it cannot be so."

"Why not, Lily?"

"Because of that other man."

"And is that to be a bar for ever?"

"Yes; for ever."

"Do you still love him?"

"No; no, no!"

"Then why should this be so?"

"I cannot tell, dear. It is so. If you take a young tree and split
it, it still lives, perhaps. But it isn't a tree. It is only a
fragment."

"Then be my fragment."

"So I will, if it can serve you to give standing ground to such a
fragment in some corner of your garden. But I will not have myself
planted out in the middle, for people to look at. What there is left
would die soon." He still held her hands, and she did not attempt to
draw them away. "John," she said, "next to mamma, I love you better
than all the world. Indeed I do. I can't be your wife, but you need
never be afraid that I shall be more to another than I am to you."

"That will not serve me," he said, grasping both her hands till he
almost hurt them, but not knowing that he did so. "That is no good."

"It is all the good that I can do you. Indeed I can do you,--can do
no one any good. The trees that the storms have splintered are never
of use."

"And is this to be the end of all, Lily?"

"Not of our loving friendship."

"Friendship! I hate the word. I hear some one's step, and I had
better leave you. Good-by."

"Good-by, John. Be kinder than that to me as you are going." He
turned back for a moment, took her hand, and held it tight against
his heart, and then he left her. In the hall he met Mrs. Thorne, but,
as she said afterwards, he had been too much knocked about to be