red, at the same time, that I
would on no consideration undertake to gain her consent to Sir
Percival's wishes. Mr. Fairlie complimented me on my "excellent
conscience," much as he would have complimented me, if he had been out
walking, on my "excellent constitution," and seemed perfectly
satisfied, so far, with having simply shifted one more family
responsibility from his own shoulders to mine.

This morning I spoke to Laura as I had promised. The composure--I may
almost say, the insensibility--which she has so strangely and so
resolutely maintained ever since Sir Percival left us, was not proof
against the shock of the news I had to tell her. She turned pale and
trembled violently.

"Not so soon!" she pleaded. "Oh, Marian, not so soon!"

The slightest hint she could give was enough for me. I rose to leave
the room, and fight her battle for her at once with Mr. Fairlie.

Just as my hand was on the door, she caught fast hold of my dress and
stopped me.

"Let me go!" I said. "My tongue burns to tell your uncle that he and
Sir Percival are not to have it all their own way."

She sighed bitterly, and still held my dress.

"No!" she said faintly. "Too late, Marian, too late!"

"Not a minute too late," I retorted. "The question of time is OUR
question--and trust me, Laura, to take a woman's full advantage of it."

I unclasped her hand from my gown while I spoke; but she slipped both
her arms round my waist at the same moment, and held me more
effectually than ever.

"It will only involve us in more trouble and more confusion," she said.
"It will set you and my uncle at variance, and bring Sir Percival here
again with fresh causes of complaint--"

"So much the better!" I cried out passionately. "Who cares for his
causes of complaint? Are you to break your heart to set his mind at
ease? No man under heaven deserves these sacrifices from us women.
Men! They are the enemies of our innocence and our peace--they drag us
away from our parents' love and our sisters' friendship--they take us
body and soul to themselves, and fasten our helpless lives to theirs as
they chain up a dog to his kennel. And what does the best of them give
us in return? Let me go, Laura--I'm mad when I think of it!"

The tears--miserable, weak, women's tears of vexation and rage--started
to my eyes. She smiled sadly, and put her handkerchief over my
face to hide for me the betrayal of my own weakness--the weakness of
all others which