aying up for yourself a nice little
nest-egg in heaven, that you haven't time to consider other people and
their interests and feelings."

"I think you do me an injustice," replied Christopher quietly. He was
puzzled to find Elisabeth so bitter against him on a mere question of
money, as she was usually a most unworldly young person; again he did
not understand that she was not really fighting over the matter at
issue, but over the fact that he had put something before his friendship
for her. Once she had quarrelled with him because he seemed to think
more of his business than of her; now she was quarrelling with him
because he thought more of his duty than of her; for the truth that he
could not have loved her so much had he not loved honour more, had not
as yet been revealed to Elisabeth.

"I don't want to be money-grubbing," she went on, "or to cling on to
things to which I have no right; though, of course, it will be rather
poor fun for me to have to give up all this," and she waved her hand in
a sweep, supposed to include the Willows and the Osierfield and all that
appertained thereto, "and to drudge along at the rate of five hundred a
year, with yesterday's dinner and last year's dress warmed up again to
feed and clothe me. But I ask you to consider whether the work-people at
the Osierfield aren't happier under my _regime_, than under the rule of
some good-for-nothing young man, who will probably spend all his income
upon himself, and go to the dogs as his father did before him."

Christopher was cut to the quick; Elisabeth had hit the nail on the
head. After all, it was not his own interests that he felt bound to
sacrifice to the claims of honour, but hers; and it was this
consideration that made him feel the sacrifice almost beyond his power.
He knew that it was his duty to do everything he could to fulfil the
conditions of Miss Farringdon's will; he also knew that he was compelled
to do this at Elisabeth's expense and not at his own; and the twofold
knowledge well-nigh broke his heart. His misery was augmented by his
perception of how completely Elisabeth misunderstood him, and of how
little of the truth all those years of silent devotion had conveyed to
her mind; and his face was white with pain as he answered--

"There is no need for you to say such things as that to me, Elisabeth;
you know as well as I do that I would give my life to save you from
sorrow and to ensure your happiness; but I can not be guil