Then she forgave him.

Then he took advantage of her clemency, and proceeded calmly to show her it was their only chance.

Then Mary forgot how severely she had checked him, and merely said that was the last thing she would consent to, and bound him on his honor never to mention to Julia Clifford that he had proposed such a thing.  Walter promised that readily enough, but stuck to his point; and as Mary’s pride was wounded, and she was a girl of great spirit though love-sick, she froze to him, and soon after said she was very sorry, but she must not stay too long or papa would be angry.  She then begged him not to come out of the parlor, or the servant would see him.

“That is a trifle,” said Walter.  “I am going to obey you in greater things than that.  Ah!  Mary, Mary, you don’t love me as I love you!”

“No, Walter,” said Mary, “I do not love you as you love me, for I respect you.”  Then her lip trembled, and her eyes filled with tears.

Walter fell on his knees, and kissed her skirt several times; then ended with her hand.  “Oh, don’t harbor such a thought as that!” said he.

She sobbed, but made no reply.

They parted good friends, but chilled.

That made them both unhappy to think of.

It was only two, or at the most three, days after this that, as Mary was walking in the garden, a nosegay fell at her feet.  She picked it up, and immediately found a note half secreted in it.  The next moment it was entirely secreted in her bosom.  She sauntered in-doors, and scudded upstairs to her room to read it.

The writer told her in a few agitated words that their fathers had met, and he must speak to her directly.  Would she meet him for a moment at the garden gate at nine o’clock that evening?

“No, no, no!” cried Mary, as if he was there.  She was frightened.  Suppose they should be caught.  The shame—­the disgrace.  But oh, the temptation!  Well, then, how wrong of him to tempt her!  She must not go.  There was no time to write and refuse; but she must not go.  She would not go.  And in this resolution she persisted.  Nine o’clock struck, and she never moved.  Then she began to picture Walter’s face of disappointment and his unhappiness.  At ten minutes past nine she tied a handkerchief round her head and went.

There he was at the gate, pale and agitated.  He did not give her time to scold him.

“Pray forgive me,” he said; “but I saw no other way.  It is all over, Mary, unless you love me as I love you.”

“Don’t begin by doubting me,” she said.  “Tell me, dear.”

“It is soon told.  Our fathers have met at that wretched pit, and the foreman has told me what passed between them.  My father complained that mining for coal was not husbandry, and it was very unfair to do it, and to smoke him out of house and home. (Unfortunately the wind was west, and blew the smoke of the steam-engine over his lawn.) Your father said he took the farm under that express stipulation.  Colonel Clifford said, ’No; the condition was smuggled in.’  ‘Then smuggle it out,’ said Mr. Bartley.”