already dawning in her deep
grey eyes.

"It is I who am not worthy. Why, think! I am only an inexperienced
girl--living the life of a farmer's daughter. We are very poor--oh, you
do not know how poor! We are almost as poor as the smallest tenant,
though we live in this big house, and are still regarded as great
people--the Herons of Herondale."

"That's one of the things I have been thinking of," said Stafford.
"What lovely hair you have, Ida! It is not often that dark hair is so
soft, is it?"

He bent down and drew a look, which his caresses had released, across
her lips, and kissed her through it.

"You are lords of the soil, people of importance and rank here, while
we are--well, just ordinary folk. I can quite understand your father
objecting. Dearest, you are worthy of a duke, a prince--"

She put her hand up to his lips to silence the lover's extravagant
flattery.

"It is not that--the difference--which is all to your advantage," she
said. "My father may think of it," she went on with innocent candour.
"But it would be the same if you were of the highest rank. He does not
want me to leave him."

"And if he were less anxious to keep you he would not give you to me,
who am, in his opinion, and rightly, so much your inferior," said
Stafford. "But I ought to go to him, dearest. I ought to go to-morrow."

She trembled a little as she nestled against him. "And--and--your
father, Sir Stephen Orme?" she said. "What will he say?"

Stafford laughed slowly and confidently.

"Oh, my father? He will be delighted. He's the best of fathers, a
perfect model for parents. Ever since I can remember he has been good
to me, a precious sight better, more liberal and generous, than I
deserved; but lately, since I've known him--Ah, well, I can only say,
dearest, that he will be delighted to hear that I have chosen a wife;
and when he sees you--"

He stopped and held her at arm's length for a moment and looked down
into the lovely face upturned to his with its sweet, girlish gravity.

--"Why, he will fall in love with you right out of hand! I think you
will like my father, Ida. He--well, he's a taking sort of fellow;
everybody likes him who knows him--really knows him--and speaks well of
him. Yes, I'm proud of him, and I feel as safe as if he were here to
say, in his hearty, earnest way: 'I wish you good luck, Stafford! And
may God bless you, my dear!'"

He flushed and laughed as if a little ashamed of his emotional way