"Mary, I am not to be trifled with any longer. Tell me once for all,—Did you give me that book on Monday evening to make a fool of me; or did you give it that I might understand you?"
She was knitting a purse, and continued her work without making the slightest observation.
"Mary, take care! take care! I am violent—do not rouse me. I must decide to-day whether I am to be your's or another's."
She trembled slightly as he said this, and raised her eyes to his.
"You have played with my affection too long already. To-day must end it. Mary, do you love me?"
She kept her eyes fixed upon his, and smiled.
"I will take no equivocal answer," he said, rising, and approaching her; "if it is to end, it had better end at once."
She shook back her golden tresses, and motioning him to be seated, with a most significant smile, said,—"Marmaduke, you need not go."
He sat upon the ground at her feet, and looking up into her face, whispered,—
"My own Mary!"