n to let Greta marry him in
ignorance of his birth, there was only one escape from the dishonor--not
to let her marry him at all. If they married, the oath must be kept. If
the oath were kept, the marriage might be dishonored--it could not be
the unreserved and complete union of soul with soul, heart with heart,
mind with mind, which true marriage meant. It would be laying the
treasure at the altar and keeping back part of the price.

Paul was not a man of subtle intellect, or perhaps such reflections
would have troubled him too deeply. Love was above everything, and to
give up Greta was impossible. If Circumstance was the evil genius of a
man's life, should it be made the god of it also?

At all hazards Paul meant to marry Greta. And after all, what did this
question of honor amount to? It was a mere phantasm. What did it matter
to Greta whether he were high or basely born? Should he love her less or
more? Would he be less or more worthy of her love? And how was his
birth base? Not in God's eyes, for God had heard the voice of Hagar's
son. Only in the eyes of the world. And what did that mean? It meant
that whether birth was high or base depended one part on virtue and nine
hundred and ninety-nine parts on money. Where had half the world's
titled great ones sprung from? Not--like him--from their father and
their father's fathers, but from a monarch's favorite.

Thus Paul reasoned with himself at this juncture. Whether he was wholly
right or wholly wrong, or partly right and partly wrong, concerns us not
at all. It was natural that such a man, in such a place, at such an
hour, should decide once for all to say not a word to Greta. It was just
as natural that his reticence should produce the long series of
incidents still to be recorded.

Thus it was not a word was said between them of what lay nearest to the
hearts of both.

CHAPTER XVI.

The morning was brilliant--a vigorous, lusty young day, such as can
awake from the sleep of the night only in winter and in the north. The
sun shone on the white frost; the air was hazy enough to make the
perspective of the fells more sharp, and leave a halo of mystery to hang
over every distant peak and play about every tree.

The Ghyll was early astir, and in every nook and corner full of the buzz
of gossip.

"Well, things is at a pass, for sure!" "And never no axings nowther."
"And all cock-a-hoop, and no waiting for the mistress to come back."
"Shaf, what matter a