“Amen; so be it; God forbid that I should grudge the aged patriarch his few remaining days upon earth—­days, too, upon which his soul’s immortal welfare may depend,” said Thurston.  “But, dearest girl, it is more difficult to get a reply from you than from a prime minister.  Answer, now, once for all, sweet girl! since I am forever bound to you; will you pledge yourself to become my own dear wife?”

“Yes,” whispered Marian, very lowly.

“And will you,” he asked, gathering her form closer to his bosom, “will you redeem that pledge when I demand it?”

“Yes,” she murmured sweetly, “so that it is not to harm you, or bring you into trouble or poverty; for that I would not consent to do!”

“God bless you; you are an angel!  Oh!  Marian!  I find it in my heart to sigh because I am so unworthy of you!”

And this was spoken most sincerely.

“You think too well of me.  I fear—­I fear for the consequences.”

“Why, dearest Marian?”

“Oh, I fear that when you know me better you may love me less,” she answered, in a trembling voice.

“Why should I?”

“Oh! because your love may have been attracted by ideal qualities, with which you yourself have invested me; and when your eyes are opened you may love me less.”

“May my soul forever perish the day that I cease to love you!” said Thurston, passionately pressing her to his heart, and sealing his fearful oath upon her pure brow and guileless lips.  “And now, beloved! this compact is sealed!  Our fates are united forever!  Henceforth nothing shall dissever us!”

They were now drawing near the village.

Marian suddenly stopped.

“Dear Thurston,” she said, “if you are seen waiting upon me to church do you know what the people will say?  They will say that Marian has a new admirer in Mr. Willcoxen—­and that will reach your grandfather’s ears, and give you trouble.”

“Stay! one moment, beautiful Marian!  When shall we meet again?”

“When Heaven wills.”

“And when will that be, fairest?”

“I do not know; but do not visit me at the cottage, dear Thurston, it would be indiscreet.”

“Marian!  I must see you often.  Will you meet me on the beach to-morrow afternoon?”

“No,” answered Marian, gravely, “in this single instance, I must not meet you, though my heart pleads like a sick child with me to do it, Thurston, dear Thurston.”

She raised her eyes to his as she spoke, and giving way to a sudden impulse, dropped her head upon his shoulder, put her arms around his neck, and embraced him.  And then his better angel rose above the storm of passion that was surging through his veins, and calmed the tumult, and spoke through his lips.

“You are right, Marian—­fairest and dearest, you are right.  And I not only love you best of all women, but honor you more than all men.  It shall be as you have said.  I will not seek you anywhere.  As the mother, dying of plague, denies herself the parting embrace of her ‘unstricken’ child—­so, for your sake, will I refrain from the heaven of your presence.”