"Tell Mr. Graham from me," he said at last, almost in a whisper, "that he need have no fears, for I pledge you my word of honor that I will never ask Jessie Graham to be my wife, unless the time should come when I am by the world acknowledged her equal, and when I promise this, Mrs. Bartow, I tear out, as it were, the dearest, purest affection of my heart, for I do love Jessie Graham; I see it now as clearly as I see that I must kill that love. Not because you ask it of me, Madam," and he assumed a haughty tone, "but because it is the wish of the best friend I ever knew. He need not fear when I am with her in New York. I will keep my place, whatever that may be, and when I call on Jessie, as I shall sometimes do, it will be a brother's call, and nothing more. Will you be satisfied with this?"
"Yes, more than satisfied," and Mrs. Bartow offered him her hand.
He took it mechanically, and as he turned away the lady thought to herself:
"He is a noble fellow, and so handsome, too, but William looks almost as well. Didn't he give it up quick when I mentioned Mr. Graham. I wonder if that was a lie I told. I only left off a little, that was all," and framing excuses for her duplicity, the old lady retired for the night.
They were to leave in the morning, and Jessie seemed unusually sad when she came out to breakfast, for the inmates of the farm-house were very dear to her.
"You'll come to New York soon, won't you?" she said to Walter, when, after breakfast, she joined him under the maple tree.
At the sound of her voice he started, and looking down into her bright, sunny face, felt a thrill of pain. Involuntarily he took her hand in his, and said:
"I have been thinking that I may not come at all."
"Why, Walter, yes you will; father will be so disappointed. I believe he anticipates it even more than I."
"But your grandmother," he suggested, and Jessie rejoined: