read it. Ah! yes; she recollected the day
well when he had driven her to Ripley Station, and asked her those
questions as he was persuading Dumpling to mount the hill. The very
words were still in her ears. "Would _you_ come to such a house,
Adela?" Ay, indeed, would she--if only she were duly asked. But he--!
Had it not seemed then as if he almost wished that the proffer should
come from her? Not to that would she stoop. But as for sharing such
a house as his--any house with him! What did true love mean, if she
were not ready to do that?

And she remembered, too, that comforting of which he spoke. That had
been the beginning of it all, when he took those walks along the
river to West Putford; when she had learned to look for his figure
coming through the little wicket at the bottom of their lawn. Then
she had taxed her young heart with imprudence--but in doing so she
had found that it was too late. She had soon told the truth--to
herself that is; and throughout she had been true. Now she had her
reward; there in her hands, pressing it to her heart. He had loved
her for years and years, he said. Yes, and so had she loved him; and
now he should know it. But not quite at once--in some sweet hour of
fullest confidence she would whisper it all to him.

"I think I told you; though, I am sure, you have forgotten that."

Forget it! no, not a word, not one of his tones, not a glance of his
eyes, as he sat there in her father's drawing-room that morning, all
but unable to express his sorrows. She could never forget the effort
with which she had prevented the tell-tale blood from burning in her
cheeks, or the difficulty with which she had endured his confidence.
But she had endured it, and now had come her reward. Then he had come
to tell her that he was too poor to marry. Much as she loved him, she
had then almost despised him. But the world had told him to be wiser.
The world, which makes so many niggards, had taught him to be freer
of heart. Now he was worthy of her, now that he cared nothing for
poverty. Yes, now she had her reward.

He had allowed her till the second post for her reply. That was so
kind of him, as it was necessary that she should tell her aunt. As to
the nature of her reply--as to that she never doubted for a moment.
She would consult her aunt; but she would do so with her mind fully
made up as to the future. No aunt, no Mrs. Wilkinson, should rob her
of her happiness now that he had spoken. No one shoul