, and put Lois in the rarest confusion.

"Me?--" was all she could ejaculate.

"You, certainly. I never saw any other woman in my life to whom I
wished to put the question. You are the whole world to me, as far as
happiness is concerned."

"I?--" said Lois again. "I thought--"

"What?"

She hesitated, and he urged the question. Lois was not enough mistress
of herself to choose her words.

"I thought--it was somebody else."

"Did you?--Who did you think it was?"

"O, don't ask me!"

"But I think I must ask you. It concerns me to know how, and towards
whom, my manner can have misled you. Who was it?"

"It was not--your manner--exactly," said Lois, in terrible
embarrassment. "I was mistaken."

"How could you be mistaken?"

"I never dreamed--the thought never entered my head--that--it was I."

"I must have been in fault then," said he gently; "I did not want to
wear my heart on my sleeve, and so perhaps I guarded myself too well. I
did not wish to know anybody else's opinion of my suit till I had heard
yours. What is yours, Lois?--what have you to say to me?"

He checked the horses again, and sat with his face inclined towards
her, waiting eagerly, Lois knew. And then, what a sharp pain shot
through her! All that had gone before was nothing to this; and for a
moment the girl's whole nature writhed under the torture. She knew her
own mind now; she was fully conscious that the best gift of earth was
within her grasp; her hands were stretched longingly towards it, her
whole heart bounded towards it; to let it go was to fall into an abyss
from which light and hope seemed banished; there was everything in all
the world to bid her give the answer that was waited for; only duty
bade her not give it. Loyalty to God said no, and her promise bound her
tongue. For that minute that she was silent Lois wrestled with mortal
pain. There are martyrs and martyrdoms now-a-days, that the world takes
no account of; nevertheless they have bled to death for the cause, and
have been true to their King at the cost of all they had in the world.
Mr. Dillwyn was waiting, and the fight had to be short, though well she
knew the pain would not be. She must speak. She did it huskily, and
with a fierce effort. It seemed as if the words would not come out.

"I have nothing to say, Mr. Dillwyn,--that you would like to hear," she
added, remembering that her first utterance was rather indefinite.

"You do not mean that?" he said hurriedly.