"Ah!" said Miss Stanhope with an arch smile, "he does not ask this hour for me; knowing it's the time of my siesta."
Elsie found Egerton pacing the parlor floor to and fro. He took her hand, led her to the sofa, and sitting down by her side, began at once to defend himself against Mr. Travilla's charge. He told her he had never been guilty of gambling; he had "sowed some wild oats," years ago—getting slightly intoxicated on two or three occasions, and things of that sort—but it was all over and repented of; and surely she could not think it just and right that it should be brought up against him now.
As to Mr. Travilla's story—the only way he could account for the singular mistake was in the fact that he had a cousin who bore the same name as himself, and resembled him so closely that they had been frequently mistaken for each other. And that cousin, most unfortunately, especially on account of the likeness, did both drink and gamble. He was delighted by the look of relief that came over Elsie's face, as he told her this. She cared for him, then; yet her confidence had been shaken.
"Ah, you doubted me, then?" he said in a tone of sorrowful reproach.
"Oh! I could not bear to think it possible. I was sure there must be a mistake somewhere," she said with a beautiful smile.
"But you are quite satisfied now?"
"Quite."
Then he told her he loved her very dearly, better than his own soul; that he found he could not live without her; life would not be worth having, unless she would consent to share it with him. "Would she, oh! would she promise some day to be his own precious little wife?"
Elsie listened with downcast, blushing face, and soft eyes beaming with joy; for the events of that day had revealed to her the fact that this man had made himself master of her heart.
"Will you not give to me a word of hope?" pleaded Egerton.