William Heath lifted his frank, dark eyes, and looked straight into the face of his host, and said, in a low tone, but with an earnestness which betrayed that he felt he had much at stake: 

“Mr. Abbot, I will answer your last question first, as frankly as you have asked it, though, no doubt, you will be greatly surprised, and perhaps startled, by my reply.  I am here simply and solely to try and win Virginia Abbot for my wife.”

Mr. Abbot sat erect, looking astonished indeed at this astounding statement, and a spot of deep red settled in each hollow cheek.

“What can you mean?  You never saw her until three months ago!” he said, excitedly.

“True, I never saw her until that wild, stormy night when I came to you a weary, dripping traveler and you so kindly extended to me your hospitality.  But I began to love your daughter that very evening.  I do not need to tell you that she is beautiful, for you know it; but to me she seemed the fairest woman that I had ever seen; her presence moved me as I had never been moved before, and I felt as if I could hardly go on to join my friends and leave her.  But I suddenly found a pretext for returning when you mentioned that you desired to dispose of your claim.  I resolved that I would become the purchaser.  I would come here and remain to study the character of your daughter, and if she proved all that I fancied her, I would strive to win her for my wife.  This, my dear sir, is why I am here; and now—­will you give her to me?”

“Have you said anything to Virgie about this?” Mr. Abbot asked, looking very grave.

“No, sir; I have not breathed a word of my intentions to her; but I accepted her invitation to tea this evening with the determination to tell you this, if I could make the opportunity, and ask your sanction to my suit before speaking to her.”

Mr. Abbot looked gratified.

“That was honorable of you,” he said.  “It meets my estimate of your character.”

“Thank you, sir,” Mr. Heath returned, flushing slightly, then continued:  “I am not given much to rhapsody or extravagances of language, but I know that I can never be a happy man unless I win Virgie, and if you will give her to me, I promise most solemnly to devote my life to her happiness.”

“Is William Heath your true name?” Mr. Abbot questioned, determined to know all about him before committing himself.

“Yes, sir.  I hope you do not think I have been masquerading under a false name,” returned the young man, a quick flush mantling his cheek.

“Pardon me; but you must remember that I could not account for your being here, and—­and I was a little suspicious, I own, that you were not quite what you pretended to be,” said the invalid, apologetically, and yet regarding him keenly.

The flush on William Heath’s face deepened.  He looked very thoughtful for a moment, then said: 

“Mr. Abbot, you have read between the lines better than I thought.  I would have preferred to remain plain William Heath to every one until after I had won my love; but perhaps I had better be perfectly frank with you.  I am not an American.”