tasteful to you. I was conscious of
nothing in my literary life that could justly offend you--and at this
day I can say the same--but I shrank from the appearance of importunity,
and for some months I was deeply distressed by the fear that what I most
desired in life had become unattainable. My means were very slight; I
had no choice but to take such work as offered, and mere chance had put
me into a position which threatened ruin to the hope that you would some
day regard me as a not unworthy suitor for your daughter's hand.

'Circumstances have led me to a step which at that time seemed
impossible. Having discovered that Miss Yule returned the feeling
I entertained for her, I have asked her to be my wife, and she has
consented. It is now my hope that you will permit me to call upon you.
Miss Yule is aware that I am writing this letter; will you not let her
plead for me, seeing that only by an unhappy chance have I been kept
aloof from you? Marian and I are equally desirous that you should
approve our union; without that approval, indeed, something will be
lacking to the happiness for which we hope.

'Believe me to be sincerely yours,

'JASPER MILVAIN.'

Half an hour after reading this Yule was roused from a fit of the
gloomiest brooding by Marian's entrance. She came towards him timidly,
with pale countenance. He had glanced round to see who it was, but at
once turned his head again.

'Will you forgive me for keeping this secret from you, father?'

'Forgive you?' he replied in a hard, deliberate voice. 'I assure you it
is a matter of perfect indifference to me. You are long since of age,
and I have no power whatever to prevent your falling a victim to any
schemer who takes your fancy. It would be folly in me to discuss the
question. I recognise your right to have as many secrets as may seem
good to you. To talk of forgiveness is the merest affectation.'

'No, I spoke sincerely. If it had seemed possible I should gladly have
let you know about this from the first. That would have been natural and
right. But you know what prevented me.'

'I do. I will try to hope that even a sense of shame had something to do
with it.'

'That had nothing to do with it,' said Marian, coldly. 'I have never had
reason to feel ashamed.'

'Be it so. I trust you may never have reason to feel repentance. May I
ask when you propose to be married?'

'I don't know when it will take place.'

'As soon, I suppose, as your uncle's exec