A door opened into the hall, and a man's step was on the stone-floor; she raised the curtain to see who it was. It was Marston; and he came straight towards her, and stood beside her, looking out over the wild stormy landscape.
"Miss Corby," he said, "I was coming to try and find you."
"You are very lucky in your search," she said, smiling on him. "I was alone here with the storm; and, if I had not raised the curtain, you would never have seen me. How it blows! I am glad you are not out in this. This is one of your lucky days."
"I should be glad to think so. Will you listen to me for a very few minutes, while I tell you something?"
"Surely," she said. "Who is there that I would sooner listen to?"
"I fear I shall tire your patience now, though. I am a comparatively poor man."
"And what of that, my dear Mr. Marston? You are rich in honour, in future prospects. You have a noble future before you."
"Will you share it, Mary?"
"Oh! what do you mean?"
"Will you be my wife? I love you beyond all the riches and honours of the world—I love you as you will never be loved again. It is due to you and to myself to say that, although I call myself poor, I have enough to keep you like a lady, and all my future prospects beside. Don't give me a hasty answer, but tell me, is it possible you can become my wife?"