s this."

"I beg your pardon, Lady Chetwynde," said Gualtier, firmly, "I think
that this and no other is the time. Whether it be 'nonsense' or not
need not be debated. It is any thing but nonsense to me. All my past
life seems to sweep up to this moment, and now is the crisis of my
fate. All my future depends upon it, whether for weal or woe. Lady
Chetwynde, do not call it nonsense--do not underrate its importance.
Do not, I implore you, underrate me. Thus far you have tacitly
assumed that I am a feeble and almost imbecile character. It is true
that my abject devotion to you has forced me to give a blind
obedience to all your wishes. But mark this well, Lady Chetwynde,
such obedience itself involved some of the highest qualities of
manhood. Something like courage and fortitude and daring was
necessary to carry out those plans of yours which I so willingly
undertook. I do not wish to speak of myself, however. I only wish to
show you that I am in earnest, and that though you may treat this
occasion with levity, I can not. All my life, Lady Chetwynde, hangs
on your answer to my question."

Gualtier's manner was most vehement, and indicative of the strongest
emotion, but the tones of his voice were low and only audible to
Hilda. Low as the voice was, however, it still none the less
exhibited the intensity of the passion that was in his soul.

Hilda, on the contrary, evinced a stronger rage at every word which
he uttered. The baleful light of her dark eyes grew more fiery in its
concentrated anger and scorn.

"It seems to me," said she, in her most contemptuous tone, "that you
engage to do my will only on certain conditions; and that you are
taking advantage of my necessities in order to drive a bargain."

"You are right, Lady Chetwynde," said Gualtier, calmly. "I am trying
to drive a bargain; but remember it is not for money--it is for
_yourself_."

"And I," said Hilda, with unchanged scorn, "will never submit to such
coercion. When you dare to dictate to me, you mistake my character
utterly. What I have to give I will give freely. My gifts shall never
be extorted from me, even though my life should depend upon my
compliance or refusal. The tone which you have chosen to adopt toward
me is scarcely one that will make me swerve from my purpose, or alter
any decision which I may have made. You have deceived yourself. You
seem to suppose that you are indispensable to me, and that this is
the time when you can force