knew that there must be something
painful to be told, to account for her mournful sadness, yet I was
willing to bear my share in her grief, whatever it might be.

Mrs. Clarke began, as if it was a relief to her to plunge into the
subject.

'We have thought, sir--at least I have thought--that you know very
little of us, nor we of you, indeed; not enough to warrant the intimate
acquaintance we have fallen into. I beg your pardon, sir,' she went on,
nervously; 'I am but a plain kind of woman, and I mean to use no
rudeness; but I must say straight out that I--we--think it would be
better for you not to come so often to see us. She is very unprotected,
and----'

'Why should I not come to see you, dear madam?' asked I, eagerly, glad
of the opportunity of explaining myself. 'I come, I own, because I have
learnt to love Mistress Lucy, and wish to teach her to love me.'

Mistress Clarke shook her head, and sighed.

'Don't, sir--neither love her, nor, for the sake of all you hold
sacred, teach her to love you! If I am too late, and you love her
already, forget her,--forget these last few weeks. O! I should never
have allowed you to come!' she went on, passionately; 'but what am I to
do? We are forsaken by all, except the great God, and even He permits a
strange and evil power to afflict us--what am I to do? Where is it to
end?' She wrung her hands in her distress; then she turned to me: 'Go
away, sir; go away, before you learn to care any more for her. I ask it
for your own sake--I implore. You have been good and kind to us, and we
shall always recollect you with gratitude; but go away now, and never
come back to cross our fatal path!'

'Indeed, madam,' said I, 'I shall do no such thing. You urge it for my
own sake. I have no fear, so urged--nor wish, except to hear more--all.
I cannot have seen Mistress Lucy in all the intimacy of this last
fortnight, without acknowledging her goodness and innocence; and
without seeing--pardon me, madam--that for some reason you are two very
lonely women, in some mysterious sorrow and distress. Now, though I am
not powerful myself, yet I have friends who are so wise and kind, that
they may be said to possess power. Tell me some particulars. Why are
you in grief--what is your secret--why are you here? I declare solemnly
that nothing you have said has daunted me in my wish to become Lucy's
husband; nor will I shrink from any difficulty that, as such an
aspirant, I may have to encounter. You