an nature can aspire
to. You know that I am a man of fortune, but I wish you to dismiss that
consideration from your mind. Do you think from what you know of my
character that you could be happy as my wife, Laura?"

She made no answer, but still sat with her head turned away and her
sparkling eyes fixed upon the fire. One little foot from under her skirt
tapped nervously upon the rug.

"It is only right that you should know a little more about me before you
decide. There is, however, little to know. I am an orphan, and, as far
as I know, without a relation upon earth. My father was a respectable
man, a country surgeon in Wales, and he brought me up to his own
profession. Before I had passed my examinations, however, he died and
left me a small annuity. I had conceived a great liking for the subjects
of chemistry and electricity, and instead of going on with my medical
work I devoted myself entirely to these studies, and eventually built
myself a laboratory where I could follow out my own researches. At about
this time I came into a very large sum of money, so large as to make me
feel that a vast responsibility rested upon me in the use which I made
of it. After some thought I determined to build a large house in a quiet
part of the country, not too far from a great centre. There I could be
in touch with the world, and yet would have quiet and leisure to mature
the schemes which were in my head. As it chanced, I chose Tamfield as my
site. All that remains now is to carry out the plans which I have
made, and to endeavour to lighten the earth of some of the misery and
injustice which weigh it down. I again ask you, Laura, will you throw
in your lot with mine, and help me in the life's work which lies before
me?"

Laura looked up at him, at his stringy figure, his pale face, his keen,
yet gentle eyes. Somehow as she looked there seemed to form itself
beside him some shadow of Hector Spurling, the manly features, the
clear, firm mouth, the frank manner. Now, in the very moment of her
triumph, it sprang clearly up in her mind how at the hour of their
ruin he had stood firmly by them, and had loved the penniless girl as
tenderly as the heiress to fortune. That last embrace at the door, too,
came back to her, and she felt his lips warm upon her own.

"I am very much honoured, Mr. Haw," she stammered, "but this is so
sudden. I have not had time to think. I do not know what to say."

"Do not let me hurry you," he cried earne