“Oh! you want me to become your housekeeper?”

“Yes; housekeeper, homekeeper, heartkeeper—­everything!  Oh, Maud darling! can’t you understand that I love you and want you for my wife, my best, nearest, and dearest friend, my heart’s idol?  I love you in a way that I never loved anyone else.  Can’t you love me in the same way—­as something nearer and dearer than a mere cousin?”

Maud was blushing, trembling—­wholly taken by surprise and hardly knowing whether to be glad or sorry.  “Oh, Dick! how can you?” she stammered.  “We are cousins, you know, and—­and cousins ought not to—­to marry.  I have often heard Cousin Arthur say so.”

“Not first cousins, nor second, but we are neither; we are far enough removed to be entirely safe so far as that is concerned.  So dearest, you need not hesitate on that account, if you feel that you can love me well enough to be happy as my wife.  Can you?  If you cannot now, I may be able to teach you to by clever courting.  But I need a wife—­I do indeed; and I don’t know how to wait.  Don’t make me wait.  Can’t you give me your love—­at least a little of it?”

“Oh, Dick! do you really care so much for me and my love—­really love me in that way?” she asked low and tremulously, her eyes full of happy tears.  “I never thought of such a thing before; but—­but I do believe I can—­I do love you better than any other of my cousins; better than—­than anybody else in the world.”

“Ah! dearest, you have made me very, very happy,” he said joyously; “happier than I ever was in my life before, and I shall go home far richer than I came.”

As he spoke he drew her to a rustic seat in a nook so concealed by the trees and shrubbery and the winding of the path that they were entirely hidden from view, and, putting an arm about her he held her close with silent caresses that seemed very sweet to her; for she had been an orphan for years, and often hungry for love greater than that of brother or sister.

“Maud, dear,” he said presently, “we have given ourselves to each other, and why should we delay the final step?  I do not want to go back to my home alone; will you not go with me?  It would make me the happiest of men.”

“But—­but you are going very soon, I understood—­in a few days.”

“Yes; it would hardly do for me to wait longer than that; but what is the use of waiting?  We know each other now as thoroughly as we ever can till we live together as man and wife.”

“But I should have no time to prepare my wardrobe——­”

“It is good enough, and can be easily added to when you are Mrs. Percival,” he said with a low, gleeful laugh.  “I am ready to take you, my darling, if you were without a single change of raiment.  I do not think you know it, dearest, but I am no longer the poor relation I used to be.  I have had a large practise, worked hard, and made some very fortunate investments, so that I can truly say that I am a fairly wealthy man.  Ah, do give yourself into my keeping at once.  I am heartily tired of my lonely bachelor life, and it will be great joy to me if I can go back, not to it, but to that of a happy married man.  How a dear little wife—­such as my cousin Maud would make—­would brighten and make cheery that lonely home.  Can you find it in your heart to refuse me the favour I ask, sweet one?”