Ellen tried to pull her hand away.  “Let my hand go this minute, Granville Joy,” she said, angrily.

The boy let her hand go immediately, and stood up, leaning over her.

“Don’t be angry; I didn’t mean any harm, Ellen,” he whispered.

“I shall be angry if you do such a thing again,” said Ellen.  “We aren’t children; you have no right to do such a thing, and you know it.”

“But I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind, Ellen,” said Granville.  Then he added, with his voice all husky with emotion and a kind of fear:  “Ellen, you know how I feel about you.  You know how I have always felt.”

Ellen made no reply.  It seemed inconceivable that she for the minute should not know his meaning, but she was bewildered.

“You know I’ve always counted on havin’ you for my wife some day when we were both old enough,” said the boy, “and I’ve gone to work now, and I hope to get bigger pay before long, and—­”

Ellen rose with sudden realization.  “Granville Joy,” cried she, with something like panic in her voice, “you must not!  Oh, if I had known!  I would not have let you finish.  I would not, Granville.”  She caught his arm, and clung to it, and looked up at him pitifully.  “You know I wouldn’t have let you finish,” she said.  “Don’t be hurt, Granville.”

The boy looked at her as if she had struck him.

“Oh, Ellen,” he groaned.  “Oh, Ellen, I always thought you would!”

“I am not going to marry anybody,” said Ellen.  Her voice wavered in spite of herself; the young man’s look and voice were shaking her through weakness of her own nature which she did not understand, but which might be mightier than her strength.  Something crept into her tone which emboldened the young man to seize her hand again.  “You do, in spite of all you say—­” he began; but just then a long shadow fell athwart the moonlight, and Ellen snatched her hand away imperceptibly, and young Lloyd stood before them.

Chapter XXI

Granville Joy was employed in Lloyd’s, and Robert had seen him that very day and spoken to him, but he did not recognize him, not until Ellen spoke.  “This is Mr. Joy, Mr. Lloyd,” she said; “perhaps you know him.  He works in your uncle’s shop.”  She said it quite simply, as if it was a matter of course that Robert was on speaking terms with all the employes in his uncle’s factory.

Granville colored.  “I saw Mr. Lloyd this afternoon in the cutting-room,” he said, “and we had some talk together; but maybe he don’t remember, there are so many of us.”  Granville said “so many of us” with an indescribably bitter emphasis.  Suddenly his gentleness seemed changed to gall.  It was the terrible protest of one of the herd who goes along with the rest, yet realizes it, and looks ever out from his common mass with fierce eyes of individual dissent at the immutable conditions of things.  Immediately, when Granville saw the