me," her own heart
had said also. Here was now the answer.

"You know you cannot marry him," Beatrice had said, also. Ah! if that
really were so, was not this embrace deplorable for them both? And
yet how could she not be happy? She endeavoured to repel him; but
with what a weak endeavour! Her pride had been wounded to the core,
not by Lady Arabella's scorn, but by the conviction which had grown
on her, that though she had given her own heart absolutely away,
had parted with it wholly and for ever, she had received nothing in
return. The world, her world, would know that she had loved, and
loved in vain. But here now was the loved one at her feet; the first
moment that his enforced banishment was over, had brought him there.
How could she not be happy?

They all said that she could not marry him. Well, perhaps it might
be so; nay, when she thought of it, must not that edict too probably
be true? But if so, it would not be his fault. He was true to her,
and that satisfied her pride. He had taken from her, by surprise,
a confession of her love. She had often regretted her weakness in
allowing him to do so; but she could not regret it now. She could
endure to suffer; nay, it would not be suffering while he suffered
with her.

"Not one word, Mary? Then after all my dreams, after all my patience,
you do not love me at last?"

Oh, Frank! notwithstanding what has been said in thy praise, what a
fool thou art! Was any word necessary for thee? Had not her heart
beat against thine? Had she not borne thy caresses? Had there been
one touch of anger when she warded off thy threatened kisses?
Bridget, in the kitchen, when Jonah became amorous, smashed his nose
with the rolling-pin. But when Thomas sinned, perhaps as deeply, she
only talked of doing so. Miss Thorne, in the drawing-room, had she
needed self-protection, could doubtless have found the means, though
the process would probably have been less violent.

At last Mary succeeded in her efforts at enfranchisement, and she and
Frank stood at some little distance from each other. She could not
but marvel at him. That long, soft beard, which just now had been so
close to her face, was all new; his whole look was altered; his mien,
and gait, and very voice were not the same. Was this, indeed, the
very Frank who had chattered of his boyish love, two years since, in
the gardens at Greshamsbury?

"Not one word of welcome, Mary?"

"Indeed, Mr Gresham, you are welcome home."