"I do not think, however, that I shall remain here beyond to-day—with them, I mean—for my popularity is gone—and my temper would be sorely tried, for little purpose—so I have taken rooms at the Lion. Besides, I have another purpose to serve, by remaining there, as it is near the Abbey—and I should like to be married there."
"Yes—but—"
"Yes—but—" repeated Hargrave, smiling on his blushing companion; "tell me, is there any reason why you should not be mine at once?"
Mabel glanced at her mourning dress, and burst into tears.
"Do you remember," he said, gently, "my asking you to let me see your little sister, that night, alone? It will be a comfort to you, to know, that, young and childlike as she was, I entrusted my secret to her, and she died in the confidence of an hour like this, when her Mabel, her dear sister, would be the honoured mistress of a happy home. Consider, dearest, how you are placed; you are not even offered a formal welcome here—and I tremble to think how much unkindness you must yet experience. As to going to other friends, no one would advise it, when, in your husband, you can find one, who can so fully sympathise in your feelings—and, I promise you, that, for the remainder of the year, we will continue quietly in the country, bent only on serving our poor tenants. The shorter time we linger here, the better—for I long to be away, and alone, sharing that confidence which I could not give even to you, so freely as I could to my wife. Do not trifle with me—say you will be mine, before this month has passed away."
"So soon?" said Mabel.
"Nay, if you love me—why should you hesitate? I am sure you will not."
Mabel looked down—she always had been afraid to contradict him, since, when a child, she had looked up with veneration to his superior strength and height.
"You doubt me still," said Hargrave, turning aside his head, with such a look of vexation, that she was quite conquered.