m her heart to offer
in opposition to all this. She could only leave her hand in his, and
feel that she was happier than she had been at any time since the day
of that donkey-ride at Boxall Hill.

"But, Mary," continued he, becoming very grave and serious. "We must
be true to each other, and firm in this. Nothing that any of them can
say shall drive me from my purpose; will you say as much?"

Her hand was still in his, and so she stood, thinking for a moment
before she answered him. But she could not do less for him than he
was willing to do for her. "Yes," said she--said in a very low voice,
and with a manner perfectly quiet--"I will be firm. Nothing that they
can say shall shake me. But, Frank, it cannot be soon."

Nothing further occurred in this interview which needs recording.
Frank had been three times told by Mary that he had better go before
he did go; and, at last, she was obliged to take the matter into her
own hands, and lead him to the door.

"You are in a great hurry to get rid of me," said he.

"You have been here two hours, and you must go now; what will they
all think?"

"Who cares what they think? Let them think the truth: that after a
year's absence, I have much to say to you." However, at last, he did
go, and Mary was left alone.

Frank, although he had been so slow to move, had a thousand other
things to do, and went about them at once. He was very much in love,
no doubt; but that did not interfere with his interest in other
pursuits. In the first place, he had to see Harry Baker, and Harry
Baker's stud. Harry had been specially charged to look after the
black horse during Frank's absence, and the holiday doings of
that valuable animal had to be inquired into. Then the kennel of
the hounds had to be visited, and--as a matter of second-rate
importance--the master. This could not be done on the same day; but a
plan for doing so must be concocted with Harry--and then there were
two young pointer pups.

Frank, when he left his betrothed, went about these things quite as
vehemently as though he were not in love at all; quite as vehemently
as though he had said nothing as to going into some profession which
must necessarily separate him from horses and dogs. But Mary sat
there at her window, thinking of her love, and thinking of nothing
else. It was all in all to her now. She had pledged herself not to be
shaken from her troth by anything, by any person; and it would behove
her to be true to thi