A tear forced its way between her fingers; another, and another, soon followed.

Coventry said to himself, “There’s some other man.”  And he sighed heavily; but even in this moment of true and strong feeling he was on his guard, and said nothing.

It was his wisest course.  She was left to herself, and an amazing piece of female logic came to Mr. Coventry’s aid.  She found herself crying, and got frightened at herself.  That, which would have made a man pause, had just the opposite effect on her.  She felt that no good could come to any body of those wild and weak regrets that made her weep.  She saw she had a weakness and a folly to cure herself of; and the cure was at hand.  There was a magic in marriage; a gentleman could, somehow, make a girl love him when once she had married him.  Mr. Coventry should be enabled to make her love him; he should cure her of this trick of crying; it would be the best thing for every body—­for him, for Jael, for Mr. Coventry, and even for herself.

She dried her eyes, and said, in a low, tremulous voice:  “Have you spoken to papa of—­of this?”

“No.  I waited to be authorized by you.  May I speak to him?”

“Yes.”

“May I tell him—?”

“Oh I can’t tell you what to tell him.  How dark it is getting.  Please take me home.”  Another tear or two.

Then, if Coventry had not loved her sincerely, and also been a man of the world, he would have lost his temper; and if he had lost his temper, he would have lost the lady, for she would have seized the first fair opportunity to quarrel.  But no, he took her hand gently, and set himself to comfort her.  He poured out his love to her, and promised her a life of wedded happiness.  He drew so delightful a picture of their wedded life, and in a voice so winning, that she began to be consoled, and her tears ceased.

“I believe you love me,” she murmured; “and I esteem you sincerely.”

Mr. Coventry drew a family ring from his pocket.  It was a sapphire of uncommon beauty.

“This was my mother’s,” said he.  “Will you do me the honor to wear it, as a pledge?”

But the actual fetter startled her, I think.  She started up, and said, “Oh, please take me home first!  It is going to snow.”

Call her slippery, if you don’t like her; call her unhappy and wavering, if you do like her.

Mr. Coventry smiled now at this attempt to put off the inevitable, and complied at once.

But, before they had gone a hundred yards, the snow did really fall, and so heavily that the air was darkened.

“We had better go back to the shed till it is over,” said Mr. Coventry.

“Do you think so?” said Grace, doubtfully.  “Well.”

And they went back.

But the snow did not abate, and the air got darker.  So, by-and-by, Grace suggested that Mr. Coventry should run down the hill, and send George up to her with an umbrella.