t."

"Not give me one kiss?"

"I gave you one when you came, to show you that in truth I loved you.
I will give you another when Papa says that everything is right."

"Not till then?"

"No, George, not till then. But I shall love you just the same. I
cannot love you better than I do."

He had nothing for it but to submit, and was obliged to be content
during the remainder of their long walk with talking of his future
life at Scarrowby. It was clearly her idea that he should be
head-farmer, head-steward, head-accountant, and general workman for
the whole place. When he talked about the game, she brought him back
to the plough;--so at least he declared to himself. And he could
elicit no sympathy from her when he reminded her that the nearest
meet of hounds was twenty miles and more from Scarrowby. "You can
think of other things for a while," she said. He was obliged to say
that he would, but it did seem to him that Scarrowby was a sort
of penal servitude to which he was about to be sent with his own
concurrence. The scent of the cleanliness was odious to him.

"I don't know what I shall do there of an evening," he said.

"Read," she answered; "there are lots of books, and you can always
have the magazines. I will send them to you." It was a very dreary
prospect of life for him, but he could not tell her that it would be
absolutely unendurable.

When their walk was over,--a walk which she never could forget,
however long might be her life, so earnest had been her purpose,--he
was left alone, and took another stroll by himself. How would it suit
him? Was it possible? Could the event "come off"? Might it not have
been better for him had he allowed his other loving friend to prepare
for him the letter to the Baronet, in which Sir Harry's munificent
offer would have been accepted? Let us do him the justice to remember
that he was quite incapable of understanding the misery, the utter
ruin which that letter would have entailed upon her who loved him so
well. He knew nothing of such sufferings as would have been hers--as
must be hers, for had she not already fallen haplessly into the pit
when she had once allowed herself to fix her heart upon a thing so
base as this? It might have been better, he thought, if that letter
had been written. A dim dull idea came upon him that he was not fit
to be this girl's husband. He could not find his joys where she would
find hers. No doubt it would be a grand thing to own Humblethwai