an I married--was, perhaps,
rather an exceptional than an average character. I hope, at least, the
experience of few has been such as mine was, or that few have felt their
sufferings as I felt mine. They nearly shook my mind; relief was so
hopeless, redress so unattainable. But, my dear, I do not wish to
dishearten; I only wish to warn you, and to prove that the single should
not be too anxious to change their state, as they may change for the
worse."

"Thank you, my dear madam. I quite understand your kind intentions, but
there is no fear of my falling into the error to which you allude. I, at
least, have no thoughts of marriage, and for that reason I want to make
myself a position by some other means."

"My dear, listen to me. On what I am going to say I have carefully
deliberated, having, indeed, revolved the subject in my thoughts ever
since you first mentioned your wish to obtain a situation. You know I at
present reside with Miss Keeldar in the capacity of companion. Should
she marry (and that she _will_ marry ere long many circumstances induce
me to conclude), I shall cease to be necessary to her in that capacity.
I must tell you that I possess a small independency, arising partly from
my own savings, and partly from a legacy left me some years since.
Whenever I leave Fieldhead I shall take a house of my own. I could not
endure to live in solitude. I have no relations whom I care to invite to
close intimacy; for, as you must have observed, and as I have already
avowed, my habits and tastes have their peculiarities. To you, my dear,
I need not say I am attached; with you I am happier than I have ever
been with any living thing" (this was said with marked emphasis). "Your
society I should esteem a very dear privilege--an inestimable privilege,
a comfort, a blessing. You shall come to me, then. Caroline, do you
refuse me? I hope you can love me?"

And with these two abrupt questions she stopped.

"Indeed, I _do_ love you," was the reply. "I should like to live with
you. But you are too kind."

"All I have," went on Mrs. Pryor, "I would leave to you. You should be
provided for. But never again say I am _too kind_. You pierce my heart,
child!"

"But, my dear madam--this generosity--I have no claim----"

"Hush! you must not talk about it. There are some things we cannot bear
to hear. Oh! it is late to begin, but I may yet live a few years. I can
never wipe out the past, but perhaps a brief space in the future m