smile. His smile was as
bright as the ripple of the sea, and his eye would then gleam, and
the slightest sparkle of his white teeth would be seen between his
lips, and the dimple of his chin would show itself deeper than at
other times. "It is very good of you. I thought you'd come. John
asked you, I suppose."

"Yes;--he told me you were here, and he said I ought to come."

"I don't know about ought, but I think it better. Will you mind
walking on, as I've got something that I want to say?" Then he turned
and she turned with him into the little wood. "I'm not going to
bother you any more, my darling," he said. "You are still my darling,
though I will not call you so after this." Her heart sank almost in
her bosom as she heard this,--though it was exactly what she would
have wished to hear. But now there must be some close understanding
between them and some tenderness. She knew how much she had owed him,
how good he had been to her, how true had been his love; and she felt
that words would fail her to say that which ought to be said. "So you
have given yourself to--one Ferdinand Lopez!"

"Yes," she said, in a hard, dry voice. "Yes; I have. I do not know
who told you; but I have."

"Your father told me. It was better,--was it not?--that I should
know. You are not sorry that I should know?"

"It is better."

"I am not going to say a word against him."

"No;--do not do that."

"Nor against you. I am simply here now to let you know that--I
retire."

"You will not quarrel with me, Arthur?"

"Quarrel with you! I could not quarrel with you, if I would.
No;--there shall be no quarrel. But I do not suppose we shall see
each other very often."

"I hope we may."

"Sometimes, perhaps. A man should not, I think, affect to be friends
with a successful rival. I dare say he is an excellent fellow, but
how is it possible that he and I should get on together? But you will
always have one,--one besides him,--who will love you best in this
world."

"No;--no;--no."

"It must be so. There will be nothing wrong in that. Every one has
some dearest friend, and you will always be mine. If anything of evil
should ever happen to you,--which of course there won't,--there would
be some one who would--. But I don't want to talk buncum; I only want
you to believe me. Good-bye, and God bless you." Then he put out his
right hand, holding his hat under his left arm.

"You are not going away?"

"To-morrow, perhaps. But I will say