“I know that you esteem me more than I deserve.  Well, I esteem you, Mr. Dodd.  Why, then, can we not be friends?  You have only to promise me you will never return to this subject—­come!”

“Me promise not to love you!  What is the use?  Me be your friend, and nothing more, and stand looking on at the heaven that is to be another’s, and never to be mine?  It is my turn to decline.  Never.  Betrothed lovers or strangers, but nothing between!  It would drive me mad.  Away from you, and out of sight of your sweet face, I may make shift to live, and go through my duty somehow, for my mother’s and sister’s sake.”

“You are wiser than I was, Mr. Dodd.  Yes, we must part.”

“Of course we must.  I have got my answer, and a kinder one than I deserve; and now what is the polite thing for me to do, I wonder?” David said this with terrible bitterness.

“You frighten me,” sighed Lucy.

“Don’t you be frightened, sweet angel; there!  I have been used to obey orders all my life, and I am like a ship tossed in the breakers, and you are calm—­calm as death.  Give me my orders, for God’s sake.”

“It is not for me to command you, Mr. Dodd.  I have forfeited that right.  But listen to her who still asks to be your friend, and she will tell you what will be best for you, and kindest and most generous to her.”

“Tell me about that last; the other is a waste of words.”

“I will, then.  Your sister is somewhere in the neighborhood.”

“She is at ——­; how did you know?”

“I saw her on your arm.  I am glad she is so near—­Oh, so glad!  Bid my uncle and aunt good-by; make some excuse.  Go to your sister at once. She loves you.  She is better than I am, if you will but see us as we really are.  Go to her at once,” faltered Lucy, who disliked Eve, and Eve her.

“I will!  I will!  I have thought too little of my own flesh and blood.  Shall I go now?”

“Yes,” murmured Lucy softly, trying to disarm the fatal word.  “Forget me—­and—­forgive me!” and, with this last word scarce audible, she averted her face, and held out her hand with angelic dignity, modesty and pity.

The kind words and the gentle action brought down the stout heart that had looked death in the face so often without flinching.  “Forgive you, sweet angel!” he cried; “I pray Heaven to bless you, and to make you as happy as I am desolate for your sake.  Oh, you show me more and more what I lose this day.  God bless you!  God bless—­” and David’s heart filled to choking, and he burst out sobbing despairingly, and the hot tears ran suddenly from his eyes over her hand as he kissed and kissed it.  Then, with an almost savage feeling of shame (for these were not eyes that were wont to weep), he uttered one cry of despair and ran away, leaving her pale and panting heavily.

She looked piteously at her hand, wet with a hero’s tears, and for the second time to-day her own began to gush.  She felt a need of being alone.  She wanted to think on what she had done.  She would hide in the garden.  She ran down the steps; lo! there was Mr. Hardie coming up the gravel-walk.  She uttered a little cry of impatience, and dashed impetuously into the hot-house, driving the half-open door before her with her person as well as her arm.