.
Were there a chance of keeping you in possession of the money, Pash
would never have left you so easily."

"I am so sorry about the money on your account, Paul."

"My own," he said cheerily, "money is a good thing, and I wish we could
have kept the five thousand a year. But I have you, and you have me, and
although we cannot marry for a long time yet--"

"Not marry, Paul! Oh, why not?"

"Dearest, I am poor, I cannot drag you down to poverty."

Sylvia looked at him wide-eyed. "I am poor already." She looked round
the room. "Nothing here is mine. I have only a few clothes. Mr. Pash
said that Mrs. Krill would take everything. Let me marry you, darling,"
she whispered coaxingly, "and we can live in your garret. I will cook
and mend, and be your own little wife."

Beecot groaned. "Don't tempt me, Sylvia," he said, putting her away, "I
dare not marry you. Why, I have hardly enough to pay the fees. No, dear,
you must go with Debby to her laundry, and I'll work night and day to
make enough for us to live on. Then we'll marry, and--"

"But your father, Paul?"

"He won't do anything. He consented to our engagement, but solely, I
believe, because he thought you were rich. Now, when he knows you are
poor--and I wrote to tell him last night--he will forbid the match."

"Paul!" She clung to him in sick terror.

"My sweetest"--he caught her in his arms--"do you think a dozen fathers
would make me give you up? No, my love of loves--my soul, my heart of
hearts--come good, come ill, we will be together. You can stay with
Debby at Jubileetown until I make enough to welcome you to a home,
however humble. Dear, be hopeful, and trust in the God who brought us
together. He is watching over us, and, knowing that, why need we fear?
Don't cry, darling heart."

"I'm not crying for crying," sobbed Sylvia, hiding her face on his
breast and speaking incoherently; "but I'm so happy--"

"In spite of the bad news?" asked Paul, laughing gently.

"Yes--yes--to think that you should still wish to marry me. I am
poor--I--I--have--no name, and--"

"Dearest, you will soon have my name."

"But Mrs. Krill said--"

"I don't want to hear what she said," cried Paul, impetuously; "she is a
bad woman. I can see badness written all over her smiling face. We
won't think of her. When you leave here you won't see her again. My own
dear little sweetheart," whispered Paul, tenderly, "when you leave this
unhappy house, let the bad past go. You and I