'You might have accepted my love, oh, Grace!'—he tries to seize her hands, but she will not give them.
'Not now, not now,' she says. 'It is too late.'
'But how can it be?' cries the poor fellow wildly. 'Grace, you are torturing me. Two days ago—such a short time—we seemed to understand one another quite well. I would have spoken then, but I had nothing to offer you. It was for your sake, darling, because I could not—dared not—run the risk of dragging you into poverty. My circumstances have changed, nothing else. And, dear, if you object to being rich, there is no need for us to spend our wealth as rich people generally do. For all I know I may be only steward of my inheritance. To-night when I leave you I am to read the papers which I believe will give me the real wish of him who left it to me. Grace, I shall go to them with such hope, such heart, such courage, if I take your promise with me. Answer me, my darling, may I believe, may I hope, that whatever I may be called upon to do may be done, not by me alone, but by you and me together?'
That question has never been answered. Grace had turned away from him. Suddenly she cries out and grasps his arm convulsively. 'Look! look! What is that?'
For an instant horror holds him spellbound. In the next he is rushing headlong across the garden, crying out 'Fire! Fire!
[CHAPTER VI]
AN IRREPARABLE LOSS
The Gregorys' cottage was on fire. While Grace ran back to the house calling her father, Tom leapt over the fence, ran along the road, and tore into their garden, where, to his great relief, he at once saw his mother and the two servants. The girls were weeping and wringing their hands. Mrs. Gregory looked dazed. 'Thank God that you are all right!' cried Tom, as he swept past her towards the burning house.
'Come back!' cried his mother. 'I beg you, I command you!' But Tom had already gone.