"For your sake, I won't," said Dan, promptly; "let us say no more about her, Meg. Call when you please; but I fancy your embassy will be unsuccessful."
"Oh, I hope not! I trust not! In spite of all that has passed I love her still, Lord Ardleigh."
"Meg! You have called me Lord Ardleigh twice."
"Oh, I forgot! Frank, then."
"I don't like Frank either. Call me Dan."
"But I cannot go on calling you Dan all your life."
"Why not? It is the name I like best, for under it I won your love. And, indeed, Meg, I have been called Dan for so many months, that I no longer know myself as Francis Breel, or as Lord Ardleigh."
"Very well," said Meg, coquettishly, "I shall call you Dan in private, when you are very, very good. Oh, Dan."
The reason of this exclamation can be easily imagined. He who fails to guess it, is no true lover. Under the able tuition of Dan, the girl soon learned to know what love was. They were ideal lovers, and no quarrel occurred to mar the tranquillity of those golden days. Cupid was king then, and they his humble worshippers and obedient subjects.
Having thus obtained the consent and approbation of Dan and the vicar, Meg repaired to Farbis Court. It was rather late, and the dusk was closing in, for she had been all the afternoon at the gipsy camp in the company of her lover. He left her on the brow of the hill at her own request, as she wished to see Miss Linisfarne that evening. Dan wished her to postpone her visit until next day; but Meg was resolute. She had already put off the call too long, and was determined to see and comfort the lonely woman that very evening.