suits thy convenience to make me thy wife, thou takst
no heed of mine own fancies," said Barbara, not heeding this request.
"And I pray thee unhand me, for I promise to patiently abide till thou
hast said thy say."

"Now there again thou dost me wrong, lass, for as I told thee t' other
day there's no bachelor here fit to wed with thee, there's none I'd give
thee to, nor would I see thee wither away unwed."

"Gramercy cousin, but methinks that is a question I well might settle
for myself."

"Why nay, sith there is no gentleman unwed among our company, save
Allerton, whom I love as little as thou dost."

"I care not for any"--

"I know it, Barbara, I know it well. Thou 'rt that rare marvel, a woman
sufficing unto herself, for as I believe, thou hast never fancied any
man, though more than one hath fancied thee."

"'T is my cold heart," murmured Barbara with a little smile strangled in
its birth.

"Nay," replied her cousin thoughtfully as he pulled at his moustache and
gazed upon the ground at his feet. "Nay, I call thee not so much
heartless as fancy-free. Thou 'rt kind and gentle, ay, and loving as my
dear mother knew. I'm well content with thy heart for such as it is,
Barbara, if thou 'lt but give it me."

"Nay, Myles, I'm deadly sure I've none to give, and out of nothing
nothing comes."

"Thou ne'er canst love me, Barbara?"

"No more than I love thee now, Myles."

"With calm cousin-love thou meanest?"

"I am ill skilled at logic, Myles. I cannot set out my feelings in class
and order, as our chirurgeon doth his herbs and flowers."

"Well, Barbara, I'm grieved that thou lookest upon me so coldly, but I
draw not back from my petition. I'd liefer have thy calm tenderness than
another's hot love, for I can trust thee as I trust mine own honor, and
I know full well that thou 'lt ever be better than thy word. So take me,
Barbara, for thy husband, and fulfill the dear mother's last desire, and
give me the hope of teaching thee in the days to come to love me even as
I love thee."

But for all answer Barbara only turned and laid her hands in his, and
slowly raised the wonder of her eyes until they looked straight into
his; and the man whose front had never quailed in face of death or
danger grew pallid beneath his bronze, and trembled like a leaf in the
wind.

"What!--Barbara!--Dost really love me, maid? Nay, cheat me not--speak!
Dost love me, sweetheart, already?"

But Barbara said never a word, nor did