And they do make a day of it, and are as foolishly, thoughtlessly,
unutterably happy as youth and love combined can be in the very face of
life's disappointments.

* * * * *

The first flush of her joy on meeting Luttrell being over, Molly grows
once more depressed and melancholy.

Misfortune has so far subdued her that now she looks upon her future,
not with the glad and hopeful eyes of old, but through a tearful mist,
while dwelling with a sad uncertainty upon its probable results.

When in the presence of her lover she rises out of herself, and for the
time being forgets, or appears to forget, her troubles; but when away
from him she grows moody and unhappy.

Could she see but a chance of ever being able to alter her present mode
of life--before youth and hope are over--she would perhaps take her
courage by both hands and compel it to remain. But no such chance
presents itself.

To forsake Letitia is to leave her and the children to starve. For how
could Luttrell support them all on a miserable pittance of five hundred
pounds a year? The idea is preposterous. It is the same old story over
again; the same now as it was four months ago, without alteration or
improvement; and, as she tells herself, will be the same four years
hence.

Whatever Luttrell himself may think upon the subject he keeps within
his breast, and for the first week of his stay is apparently supremely
happy.

Occasionally he speaks as though their marriage is a thing that sooner
or later must be consummated, and will not see that when he does so
Molly maintains either a dead silence or makes some disheartening
remark.

At last she can bear it no longer; and one day toward the close of his
"leave," when his sentiments appear to be particularly sanguine, she
makes up her mind to compel him to accept a release from what must be
an interminable waiting.

"How can we go on like this," she says, bursting into tears, "you
forever entreating, I forever denying? It breaks my heart, and is
unfair to you. Our engagement must end. It is for your sake I speak."

"You are too kind. Will you not let me judge what is best for my own
happiness?"

"No; because you are mad on this one matter."

"You wish to release me from my promise?"

"I do. For your own good."

"Then I will not be released. Because freedom would not lead to the
desired result."

"It would. It must. It is useless our going on so. I ca