common blitheness. Algernon Blancove, the young squire, had
proposed for Rhoda's hand.

CHAPTER XLIII

Anthony had robbed the Bank. The young squire was aware of the fact,
and had offered to interpose for him, and to make good the money to the
Bank, upon one condition. So much, Rhoda had gathered from her uncle's
babbling interjections throughout the day. The farmer knew only of the
young squire's proposal, which had been made direct to him; and he had
left it to Robert to state the case to Rhoda, and plead for himself. She
believed fully, when she came downstairs into the room where Robert was
awaiting her, that she had but to speak and a mine would be sprung; and
shrinking from it, hoping for it, she entered, and tried to fasten her
eyes upon Robert distinctly, telling him the tale. Robert listened with
a calculating seriousness of manner that quieted her physical dread
of his passion. She finished; and he said "It will, perhaps, save your
uncle: I'm sure it will please your father."

She sat down, feeling that a warmth had gone, and that she was very
bare.

"Must I consent, then?"

"If you can, I suppose."

Both being spirits formed for action, a perplexity found them weak as
babes. He, moreover, was stung to see her debating at all upon such a
question; and he was in despair before complicated events which gave
nothing for his hands and heart to do. Stiff endurance seemed to him to
be his lesson; and he made a show of having learnt it.

"Were you going out, Robert?"

"I usually make the rounds of the house, to be sure all's safe."

His walking about the garden at night was not, then, for the purpose of
looking at her window. Rhoda coloured in all her dark crimson with shame
for thinking that it had been so.

"I must decide to-morrow morning."

"They say, the pillow's the best counsellor."

A reply that presumed she would sleep appeared to her as bitterly
unfriendly.

"Did father wish it?"

"Not by what he spoke."

"You suppose he does wish it?"

"Where's the father who wouldn't? Of course, he wishes it. He's kind
enough, but you may be certain he wishes it."

"Oh! Dahlia, Dahlia!" Rhoda moaned, under a rush of new sensations,
unfilial, akin to those which her sister had distressed her by speaking
shamelessly out.

"Ah! poor soul!" added Robert.

"My darling must be brave: she must have great courage. Dahlia cannot be
a coward. I begin to see."

Rhoda threw up her face, and sat awhil