of
course know that she loved him;--that from this moment there was
nothing belonging to him, down to his shoe-tie, that would not be
dear to her heart and an emblem so tender as to force a tear from
her. He had already become her god, though she did not know it. She
made comparisons between him and Mr. Gibson, and tried to convince
herself that the judgment, which was always pronounced very clearly
in Brooke's favour, came from anything but her heart. And thus
through the long watches of the night she became very happy, feeling
but not knowing that the whole aspect of the world was changed to her
by those few words which her lover had spoken to her. She thought now
that it would be consolation enough to her in future to know that
such a man as Brooke Burgess had once asked her to be the partner of
his life, and that it would be almost ungenerous in her to push her
advantage further and attempt to take him at his word. Besides, there
would be obstacles. Her aunt would dislike such a marriage for him,
and he would be bound to obey her aunt in such a matter. She would
not allow herself to think that she could ever become Brooke's wife,
but nothing could rob her of the treasure of the offer which he had
made her. Then Martha came to her at five o'clock, and she went to
her bed to dream for an hour or two of Brooke Burgess and her future
life.

On the next morning she met him at breakfast. She went down stairs
later than usual, not till ten, having hung about her aunt's room,
thinking that thus she would escape him for the present. She would
wait till he was gone out, and then she would go down. She did wait;
but she could not hear the front door, and then her aunt murmured
something about Brooke's breakfast. She was told to go down, and she
went. But when on the stairs she slunk back to her own room, and
stood there for awhile, aimless, motionless, not knowing what to do.
Then one of the girls came to her, and told her that Mr. Burgess was
waiting breakfast for her. She knew not what excuse to make, and at
last descended slowly to the parlour. She was very happy, but had it
been possible for her to have run away she would have gone.

"Dear Dorothy," he said at once. "I may call you so,--may I not?"

"Oh, yes."

"And you will love me;--and be my own, own wife?"

"No, Mr. Burgess."

"No?"

"I mean;--that is to say--"

"Do you love me, Dorothy?"

"Only think how ill Aunt Stanbury is, Mr. Burgess;--perhaps dying!