“No,” said Maria, in a hopeless voice.

Wollaston sat down beside her.  He took one of her little, cold hands, and held it in spite of a feeble struggle on her part to draw it away.  “Now, see here, Maria,” he said, “I know there is something wrong.  What is it?”

His tone was compelling.  Maria looked straight ahead at the gloomy fringe of woods, and answered, in a lifeless voice, “I heard you were coming.”

“And that is the reason you were going away?”

“Yes.”

“See here, Maria,” said Wollaston, eagerly, “upon my honor I did not know myself until this very afternoon that you were one of the teachers in the Westbridge Academy.  If I had known I would have refused the position, although my mother was very anxious for me to accept it.  I would refuse it now if it were not too late, but I promise you to resign very soon if you wish it.”

“I don’t care,” said Maria, still in the same lifeless tone.  “I am going away.”

“Going where?”

“To Springfield.  I don’t know.  Anywhere.”

Wollaston leaned over her and spoke in a whisper.  “Maria, do you want me to take steps to have it annulled?” he asked.  “It could be very easily done.  There was, after all, no marriage.  It is simply a question of legality.  No moral question is involved.”

A burning blush spread over Maria’s face.  She snatched her hand away from his.  “Do you think I could bear it?” she whispered back, fiercely.

“Bear what?” asked the young man, in a puzzled tone.

“The publicity, the—­newspapers.  Nobody has known, not one of my relatives.  Do you think I could bear it?”

“I will keep the secret as long as you desire,” said Wollaston.  “I only wish to act honorably and for your happiness.”

“There is only one reason which could induce me to give my consent to the terrible publicity,” said Maria.

“What is that?”

“If—­you wished to marry anybody else.”

“I do not,” said Wollaston, with a half-bitter laugh.  “You can have your mind easy on that score.  I have not thought of such a thing as possible for me.”

Maria cast a look of quick interest at him.  Suddenly she saw his possible view of the matter, that it might be hard for him to forego the happiness which other young men had.

“I would not shrink at all,” she said, gently, “if at any time you saw anybody whom you wished to marry.  You need not hesitate.  I am not so selfish as that.  I do not wish your life spoiled.”

Wollaston laughed pleasantly.  “My life is not to be spoiled because of any such reason as that,” he said, “and I have not seen anybody whom I wished to marry.  You know I have mother to look out for, and she makes a pleasant home for me.  You need not worry about me, but sometimes I have worried a little about you, poor child.”

“You need not, so far as that is concerned,” cried Maria, almost angrily.  A sense of shame and humiliation was over her.  She did not love Wollaston Lee.  She felt the same old terror and disgust at him, but it mortified her to have him think that she might wish to marry anybody else.