'For fear of papa; my correspondents are so few, his suspicions might be excited.'
'How hard is this!—surely we might write to each other occasionally,' urged Bevil, caressing her.
'No, my dearest; I dislike the idea of a correspondence that is clandestine, however romantic it may be; and if papa discovered it he would deem it so dishonourable in me—so dishonourable to himself.'
'But you will meet me?'
'I shall try, Bevil—I shall try; oh, I cannot help coming to meet you now.'
'Allow me, darling, till I can place another there!' exclaimed Bevil, as he slipped a ring on her engagement finger.
'Oh, Bevil,'—but whatever she was about to say he stopped in a very effectual manner.
'You will wear this for my sake,' he whispered.
'I will, darling.'
'Say always.'