“I do not like to say much to Jane about it, for it only distresses her; but I think—­I am almost sure—­that he offered to make the sacrifice, but that Jane would not accept of it.  She rejoiced in his useful and honourable life.  She would not consent to be his drag and stumbling-block.  She must have felt it very hard, too; for I feel she loves him dearly.  It was for their sakes that I was so anxious to discover this woman’s secret.  She wants to be revenged on Francis, who has not answered her letters, and has sent her no money.  I am a little surprised at that; but yet I believe that he must have had good reasons for his conduct, for there never was any one more thoroughly conscientious and liberal than the cousin I want to lose—­the brother I wish to gain.  Would it not be a glorious revenge if this Mrs. Peck, in her spite, were to give him all he wants—­the only thing missing in his cup of happiness?”

“Perhaps, then, it is a pity I interrupted you so soon,” said Brandon, admiring the generous enthusiasm of the girl; “but you were too dear to me, too precious, to be left in such suspicious company a moment longer than I could help.  I came to Melbourne with one purpose—­and that was, to entreat you to reconsider the answer you gave to me in the railway carriage.”

“I did not know you so well then,” said Elsie.  “I thought you only pitied me; and now I fear I have given you cause to despise me.”

“Nothing of the kind,” said Brandon; “nothing of the kind.  I love you far more now than I did then; and though I was so stupid and idiotic as to fancy that Miss Phillips would suit me as well, whenever I saw you together her faults came out, and your virtues.  I do not wish to take you at a disadvantage.  Do not think it ungenerous in me to ask so much just when you are in trouble and perplexity, and need advice and assistance.”

“And just when I have appeared in such an unfavourable light,” said Elsie, in her low, sweet voice, a little tremulous with the excitement of the scene.

“But I will give you the best help I can, and the best advice my poor head can supply, whether you return my love or not.  Do not let that weigh with you for a moment.  Nothing I can do can make me deserve you.  If I am not bodily on my knees before you—­for in a public place like this it would be absurd, and you would not like it—­I am mentally on my knees, willing to accept whatever you may choose to give me—­love, if possible; but if your heart is otherwise engaged, or if you cannot love such a commonplace fellow as myself, then I will try to be contented with friendship.  Which shall it be, my dearest Alice?”

“Will you have any objection to accepting of both?” said Alice, in the same tremulous tone.

“None,” said Brandon, delighted, “none whatever; indeed, one implies the other, though the other does not imply the one.  I cannot express myself distinctly, you see, but you know what I mean.  I am not at all a genius, and even this happiness cannot inspire me with fine language.  But what can I do for you?—­there is where I hope to show my sense of what I owe to you.”