ill come again some day to my
house with your father, won't you?'

The words trembled upon his lips; it was not like his own voice, he
could not control it.

'Thank you, Mr. Dagworthy,' she replied.

He bent to the books again, and this time succeeded in binding them
together. As he fastened the buckle, drops of perspiration fell from his
forehead.

Emily thanked him, and held forth her hand for the books. He took it in
his own.

'Miss Hood--'

She drew her hand away, almost by force, and retreated a step; his face
terrified her.

'I sent Jessie off on purpose,' he continued. 'I knew you were here, and
wanted to speak to you alone. Since I met you that day on the Heath, I
have had no rest--I've wanted so to see you again. The other morning at
the Cartwrights' it was almost more than I could do to go away. I don't
know what's come to me; I can't put you out of my thoughts for one
minute; I can't give my attention to business, to anything. I meant to
have gone away before now, but I've put it off, day after day; once or
twice I've all but come to your house, to ask to see you--'

He spoke in a hurried, breathless way, almost with violence; passion was
forcing the words from him, in spite of a shame which kept his face on
fire. There was something boyish in the simplicity of his phrases; he
seemed to be making a confession that was compelled by fear, and at
length his speech lost itself in incoherence. He stood with his eyes
fixed on the ground; perspiration covered his face.

'Mr. Dagworthy--'

Emily tried to break the intolerable silence. Her strength was answering
now to the demand upon it; his utter abashment before her could not but
help her to calmness. But the sound of her first word gave him voice
again.

'Let me speak first,' he broke forth, now looking full at her. 'That's
nothing of what I wanted to say; it sounds as if I wasn't man enough to
know my own mind. I know it well enough, and I must say all I have to
say, whilst you're here to listen to me. After all, you're only a girl;
but if you'd come here straight from heaven, I couldn't find it harder
to speak to you.'

'Mr. Dagworthy, don't speak like this--don't say more--I beg you not to!
I cannot listen as you would wish me to.'

'You can't listen? But you don't know what I have to say still,' he
urged, with hasty entreaty, his voice softer. 'I'm asking nothing yet; I
only want you to know how you've made me feel towards you. No feeling
wi