and live again some portion of the happy past, I hardly know what time to choose or incident to dwell upon, my life is so much crowded with them all.  Would I live again my life?  Aye, every moment except perhaps when Jane was ill—­and therein even was happiness, for what a joy there was at her recovery.  I do not even regret that it is closing; it would be ungrateful; I have had so much more than my share that I simply fall upon my knees and thank God for what He has given.

Jane’s whole attitude toward me was changed, and she seemed to cling to me in a shy, unconscious manner, that was sweet beyond the naming, as the one solace for all her grief.

After I had answered all her questions, and had told her over and over again every detail of Mary’s flight, and had assured her that the princess was, at that hour, breasting the waves with Brandon, on their high road to paradise, I thought it time to start myself in the same direction and to say a word in my own behalf.  So I spoke very freely and told Jane what I felt and what I wanted.

“Oh!  Sir Edwin,” she responded, “let us not think of anything but my mistress.  Think of the trouble she is in.”

“No! no!  Jane; Lady Mary is out of her trouble by now, and is as happy as a lark, you may be sure.  Has she not won everything her heart longed for?  Then let us make our own paradise, since we have helped them make theirs.  You have it, Jane, just within your lips; speak the word and it will change everything—­if you love me, and I know you do.”

Jane’s head was bowed and she remained silent.

Then I told her of Lady Mary’s message, and begged, if she would not speak in words what I so longed to hear, she would at least tell it by allowing me to deliver only one little thousandth part of the message Mary had sent; but she drew away and said she would return to the castle if I continued to behave in that manner.  I begged hard, and tried to argue the point, but logic seems to lose its force in such a situation, and all I said availed nothing.  Jane was obdurate, and was for going back at once.  Her persistence was beginning to look like obstinacy, and I soon grew so angry that I asked no permission, but delivered Mary’s message, or a good part of it, at least, whether she would or no, and then sat back and asked her what she was going to do about it.

Poor little Jane thought she was undone for life.  She sat there half pouting, half weeping, and said she could do nothing about it; that she was alone now, and if I, her only friend, would treat her that way, she did not know where to look.

“Where to look?” I demanded.  “Look here, Jane, here; you might as well understand, first as last, that I will not be trifled with longer, and that I intend to continue treating you that way as long as we both live.  I have determined not to permit you to behave as you have for so long; for I know you love me.  You have half told me so a dozen times, and even your half words are whole truths; there is not a fraction of a lie in you.  Besides, Mary told me that you told her so.”