ve you. But he is not going to die?"

"I hope not. Who is that young woman opposite who rushed out to me in
the street? She says she brought you the news first."

"Miss Demijohn."

"Is she a friend of yours?"

"No," said Marion, blushing as she spoke the word very firmly.

"I am rather glad of that, because I didn't fall in love with her.
She introduced me to ever so many of the neighbours. The landlady of
the public-house was one, I think."

"I am afraid they have offended you among them."

"Not in the least. I never take offence except when I think people
mean it. But now, Marion, say one word to me."

"I have said many words. Have I not said nice words?"

"Every word out of your mouth is like music to me. But there is one
word which I am dying to hear."

"What word?" she said. She knew that she should not have asked the
question, but it was so necessary for her to put off the evil if it
were only for a moment.

"It is whatever word you may choose to use when you speak to me as
my wife. My mother used to call me John; the children call me Jack;
my friends call me Hampstead. Invent something sweet for yourself.
I always call you Marion because I love the sound so dearly."

"Every one calls me Marion."

"No! I never did so till I had told myself that, if possible, you
should be my own. Do you remember when you poked the fire for me at
Hendon Hall?"

"I do;--I do. It was wrong of me; was it not;--when I hardly knew
you?"

"It was beyond measure good of you; but I did not dare to call you
Marion then, though I knew your name as well as I do now, Marion! I
have it here, written all round my heart." What could she say to a
man who spoke to her after this fashion? It was as though an angel
from heaven were courting her! If only she could have gone on
listening so that nothing further should come of it! "Find some name
for me, and tell me that it shall be written round your heart."

"Indeed it is. You know it is, Lord Hampstead."

"But what name?"

"Your friend;--your friend of friends."

"It will not do. It is cold."

"Then it is untrue to her from whom it comes. Do you think that my
friendship is cold for you?"

She had turned towards him, and was sitting before him with her face
looking into his, with her hands clasped as though in assurance of
her truth;--when suddenly he had her in his arms and had pressed his
lips to hers. In a moment she was standing in the middle of the room.
Though he was