talking! You have such a reckless way. A warrant-officer,
an arrant criminal! And your father, Sir Duncan Yordas, that very
strange gentleman, who could never get warm! Oh, Robin, you always did
talk nonsense, when--whenever I would let you. But you should not try to
make my head go round."

"Every word of it is true," the young sailor answered, applying a prompt
remedy for vertigo. "It had been clearly proved to his knowledge, long
before the great fact was vouchsafed to me, that I am the only son of
Sir Duncan Yordas, or, at any rate, his only son for the present. The
discovery gratified him so little, that he took speedy measures to
supplant me."

"The very rich gentleman from India," said Mary, "that married Miss
Upround lately; and her dress was all made of spun diamonds, they say,
as bright as the dew in the morning. Oh, then you will have to give me
up; Robin, you must give up me!"

Clasping her hands, she looked up at him with courage, keeping down all
sign of tears. She felt that her heart would not hold out long, and yet
she was prouder than to turn away. "Speak," she said; "it is better to
speak plainly; you know that it must be so."

"Do I? why?" Robin Lyth asked, calmly, being well contented to prolong
her doubts, that he might get the benefit thereafter.

"Because you belong to great people, and I am just a farmer's daughter,
and no more, and quite satisfied to remain so. Such things never
answer."

"A little while ago you were above me, weren't you? When I was nobody's
son, and only a castaway, with a nickname."

"That has nothing to do with it. We must take things exactly as we find
them at the time."

"And you took me as you found me at the time; only that you made me out
so much better. Mary, I am not worthy of you. What has birth to do with
it? And so far as that goes, yours is better, though mine may seem the
brighter. In every other way you are above me. You are good, and I
am wicked. You are pure, and I am careless. You are sweet, and I am
violent. In truth alone can I ever vie with you; and I must be a pitiful
scoundrel, Mary, if I did not even try to do that, after all that you
have done for me."

"But," said Mary, with her lovely eyes gleaming with the glittering
shade of tears, "I like you very much to do it--but not exactly as a
duty, Robin."

"You look at me like that, and you talk of duty! Duty, duty; this is my
duty. I should like to be discharging it forever and a day."

"I