course,
mother, if he did it offensively, with a chuckle over my ignorance, or
something that seemed to say, 'There 's a blockhead, if ever there was
one!' I know I couldn't help it!"

"Oh, Tony, Tony!" said she, deprecatingly.

"Yes, it's all very well to say Tony, Tony; but here's how it is. It
would be 'all up' with me. It would be by that time decided that I
was good for nothing, and to be turned back. The moment would be a
triumphant one for the fellow that 'plucked' me,--it always is, I 'm
told,--but I 'll be shot if it should be all triumph to him!"

"I won't believe this of you, Tony," said she, gravely. "It 's not like
your father, sir!"

"Then I 'd not do it, mother,--at least, if I could help it," said he,
growing very red. "I say, mother, is it too late to go up to the Abbey
and bid. Sir Arthur good-bye? Alice asked me to do it, and I promised
her."

"Well, Tony, I don't know how you feel about these things now, but there
was a time that you never thought much what hour of the day or night it
was when you went there."

"It used to be so!" said he, thoughtfully; and then added, "but I 'll
go, at all events, mother; but I 'll not be long away, for I must have a
talk with you before bedtime."

"I have a note written to Sir Arthur here; will you just give it to
him, Tony, or leave it for him when you 're coming away, for it wants no
answer?"

"All right, mother; don't take tea till I come back, and I 'll do my
best to come soon."

It was a well-worn path that led from the cottage to Lyle Abbey. There
was not an hour of day or night Tony had not travelled it; and as he
went now, thoughts of all these long-agos would crowd on his memory,
making him ask himself, Was there ever any one had so much happiness
as I had in those days? Is it possible that my life to come will ever
replace to me such enjoyment as that?

He was not a very imaginative youth, but he had that amount of the
quality that suffices for small castle-building; and he went on, as he
walked, picturing to himself what would be the boon he would ask from
Fortune if some benevolent fairy were to start out from the tall ferns
and grant him his wish. Would it be to be rich and titled and great, so
that he might propose to make Alice his wife without any semblance of
inordinate pretension? or would it not be to remain as he was, poor and
humble in condition, and that Alice should be in a rank like his own,
living in a cottage like Dolly Stew