tinued, "about my affairs
here in Baslehurst being unsettled. I would not show myself here
again till that matter was arranged."

"It was not I," she said, turning sharply round upon him. "It was not
I who thought that."

"It was in your letter, Rachel."

"Do you know so little of a girl like me as to suppose that what was
written there came from me, myself? Did I not tell you that I said
what I was told to say? Did I not explain to you that mamma had gone
to Mr. Comfort? Did you not know that all that had come from him?"

"I only know that I read it in your letter to me,--the only letter
you had ever written to me."

"You are unfair to me, Mr. Rowan. You know that you are unfair."

"Call me Luke," he said. "Call me by my own name."

"Luke," she said, "you are unfair to me."

"Then by heavens it shall be for the last time. May things in this
world and the next go well with me as I am fair to you for the
future!" So saying he came up close to her, and took her at once in
his arms.

"Luke, Luke; don't. You frighten me; indeed you do."

"You shall give me a fair open kiss, honestly, before I leave
you,--in truth you shall. If you love me, and wish to be my wife,
and intend me to understand that you and I are now pledged to each
other beyond the power of any person to separate us by his advice,
or any mother by her fears, give me a bold, honest kiss, and I will
understand that it means all that."

Still she hesitated for a moment, turning her face away from him
while he held her by the waist. She hesitated while she was weighing
the meaning of his words, and taking them home to herself as her
own. Then she turned her neck towards him, still holding back her
head till her face was immediately under his own, and after another
moment's pause she gave him her pledge as he had asked it. Mrs.
Sturt's words had come true, and the cherries had returned to her
cheek.

"My own Rachel! And now tell me one thing: are you happy?"

"So happy!"

"My own one!"

"But, Luke,--I have been wretched;--so wretched! I thought you would
never come back to me."

"And did that make you wretched?"

"Ah!--did it? What do you think yourself? When I wrote that letter
to you I knew I had no right to expect that you would think of me
again."

"But how could I help thinking of you when I loved you?"

"And then when mamma saw you in Exeter, and you sent me no word of
message!"

"I was determined to send none till this business w