In crossing it, therefore, he merely remarked
that the day was very fine for walking. Then he added one special
word, "And it is so good of you, Lily, to come with me."

"I am very glad to come with you. I would do more than that, John,
to show how glad I am to see you." Then they had come to the second
little gate, and beyond that the fields were really fields, and there
were stiles instead of wicket-gates, and the business of the day must
be begun.

"Lily, whenever I come here you say that you are glad to see me?"

"And so I am,--very glad. Only you would take it as meaning what it
does not mean, I would tell you, that of all my friends living away
from the reach of my daily life, you are the one whose coming is ever
the most pleasant to me."

"Oh, Lily!"

"It was, I think, only yesterday that I was telling Grace that you
are more like a brother to me than any one else. I wish it might be
so. I wish we might swear to be brother and sister. I'd do more for
you then than walk across the fields with you to Guestwick Cottage.
Your prosperity would then be the thing in the world for which I
should be most anxious. And if you should marry--"

[Illustration: Lily wishes that they might swear to be
Brother and Sister.]

"It can never be like that between us," said Johnny.

"Can it not? I think it can. Perhaps not this year, or next year;
perhaps not in the next five years. But I make myself happy with
thinking that it may be so some day. I shall wait for it patiently,
even though you should rebuff me again and again,--as you have done
now."

"I have not rebuffed you."

"Not maliciously, or injuriously, or offensively. I will be very
patient, and take little rebuffs without complaining. This is the
worst stile of all. When Grace and I are here together we can never
manage it without tearing ourselves all to pieces. It is much nicer
to have you to help me."

"Let me help you always," he said, keeping her hands in his after he
had aided her to jump from the stile to the ground.

"Yes, as my brother."

"That is nonsense, Lily."

"Is it nonsense? Nonsense is a hard word."

"It is nonsense as coming from you to me. Lily, I sometimes think
that I am persecuting you, writing to you, coming after you, as I
am doing now,--telling the same whining story,--asking, asking, and
asking for that which you say you will never give me. And then I feel
ashamed of myself, and swear that I will do it no more."

"Do not be