“Mr. Murray, you are wrong in your conjecture; I have no lover.”

“Oh, call him what you please!  I shall not presume to dictate your terms of endearment.  I merely wish to say that if poverty stands forbiddingly between you and happiness, why, command me to the extent of half my fortune, I will give you a dowry that shall equal the expectations of any ambitious suitor in the land.  Trust me, child, with your sorrow and I will prove a faithful friend.  Who has your heart?”

The unexpected question alarmed and astonished her, and a shivering dread took possession of her that he suspected her real feelings, and was laughing at her folly.  Treacherous blood began to paint confusion in her face, and vehement and rapid were her words.

“God and my conscience own my heart.  I know no man to whom I would willingly give it; and the correspondence to which you allude contains not a syllable of love.  My time is rather too valuable to be frittered away in such trifling.”

“Edna, would you prefer to have me a sworn ally or an avowed enemy?”

“I should certainly prefer to consider you as neither.”

“Did you ever know me fail in any matter which I had determined to accomplish?”

“Yes, sir; your entire life is a huge, hideous, woeful failure, which mocks and maddens you.”

“What the d—­l do you know of my life?  It is not ended yet, and it remains to be seen whether a grand success is not destined to crown it.  Mark you! the grapple is not quite over, and I may yet throttle the furies whose cursed fingers clutched me in my boyhood.  If I am conquered finally, take my oath for it, I shall die so hard that the howling hags will be welcome to their prey.  Single-handed, I am fighting the world, the flesh, and the devil, and I want neither inspection, nor sympathy, nor assistance.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.  And as I certainly desire to thrust neither upon you, I will bid you good-night.”

“One moment!  What does that package contain?”

“The contents belong exclusively to me—­could not possibly interest you—­would only challenge your sarcasm, and furnish food for derision.  Consequently, Mr. Murray, you must excuse me if I decline your question.”

“I’ll wager my title to Le Bocage that I can guess so accurately that you will regret that you did not make a grace of necessity and tell me.”

A vague terror overshadowed her features as she examined the seals on the package, and replied: 

“That, sir, is impossible, if you are the honorable gentleman I have always tried to force myself to believe.”

“Silly child!  Do you imagine I would condescend to soil my fingers with the wax that secures that trash?  That I could stoop to an inspection of the correspondence of a village blacksmith’s granddaughter?  I will give you one more chance to close the breach between us by proving your trust.  Edna, have you no confidence in me?”