pportunities. I tell you
frankly, I shall enjoy them and use them. Oh! do think well before you
do it. I shall _never_ be a meek, dependent wife. A woman, to my mind,
is bound to cherish her own individuality sacredly, married or not
married. Have you thought that I may often think it right to do things
you disagree with, that may scandalise your relations?"

"You shall be free," he said steadily. "I have thought of it all."

"Then there is my father," she said, turning her head away. "He is
ill--he wants pity, affection. I will accept no bond that forces me to
disown him."

"Pity and affection are to me the most sacred things in the world," he
said, kissing her hand gently. "Be content--be at rest--my beautiful
lady!"

There was again silence, full of thought on her side, of heavenly
happiness on his. The sun had sunk almost to the verge of the plain, the
wind had freshened.

"We _must_ go home," she said, springing up. "Taylor must have got there
an hour ago. Mother will be anxious, and I must--I must tell them."

"I will leave you at the gate," he suggested as they walked briskly;
"and you will ask your father, will you not, if I may see him to-night
after dinner?"

The trees thinned again in front of them, and the path curved inward to
the front. Suddenly a man, walking on the road, diverged into the path
and came towards them. He was swinging a stick and humming. His head was
uncovered, and his light chestnut curls were blown about his forehead by
the wind. Marcella, looking up at the sound of the steps, had a sudden
impression of something young and radiant, and Aldous stopped with an
exclamation.

The new-comer perceived them, and at sight of Aldous smiled, and
approached, holding out his hand.

"Why, Raeburn, I seem to have missed you twenty times a day this last
fortnight. We have been always on each other's tracks without meeting.
Yet I think, if we had met, we could have kept our tempers."

"Miss Boyce, I think you do not know Mr. Wharton," said Aldous, stiffly.
"May I introduce you?"

The young man's blue eyes, all alert and curious at the mention of
Marcella's name, ran over the girl's face and form. Then he bowed with a
certain charming exaggeration--like an eighteenth-century beau with his
hand upon his heart--and turned back with them a step or two towards the
road.

BOOK II.

"A woman has enough to govern wisely
Her own demeanours, passions and divisions."

CHAPTER I.