"Then she will marry you, soon or late: for I'm sure there is no other man. Grace was never deceitful."

"All women are deceitful."

"Oh, come!"

"Let me explain: all women, worthy of the name, are cowards; and cowardice drives them to deceit, even against their will. Pray bear me to an end. On the fifth of last December, I took Miss Carden to the top of Cairnhope hill. I showed her Bollinghope in the valley, and asked her to be its mistress."

"And what did she say? Yes, or no?"

"She made certain faint objections, such as a sweet, modest girl like her makes as a matter of course, and then she yielded."

"What! consented to be your wife?"

"Not in those very words; but she said she esteemed me, and she knew I loved her; and, when I asked her whether I might speak to you, she said 'Yes.'"

"But that was as good as accepting you."

"I am glad you agree with me. You know, Mr. Carden, thousands have been accepted in that very form. Well, sir, the next thing was we were caught in that cursed snow-storm."

"Yes, she has told me all about that."

"Not all, I suspect. We got separated for a few minutes, and I found her in an old ruined church, where a sort of blacksmith was working at his forge. I found her, sir, I might say almost in the blacksmith's arms. I thought little of that at first: any man has a right to succor any woman in distress: but, sir, I discovered that Miss Carden and this man were acquaintances: and, by degrees, I found, to my horror, that he had a terrible power over her."

"What do you mean, sir? Do you intend to affront us?"

"No. And, if the truth gives you pain, pray remember it gives me agony. However, I must tell you the man was not what he looked, a mere blacksmith; he is a sort of Proteus, who can take all manner of shapes: at the time I'm speaking of, he was a maker of carving tools. Well, sir, you could hardly believe the effect of this accidental interview with that man: the next day, when I renewed my addresses, Miss Carden evaded me, and was as cold as she had been kind: she insisted on it she was not engaged to me, and said she would not marry anybody for two years; and this, I am sorry to say, was not her own idea, but this Little's; for I overheard him ask her to wait two years for him."

"Little! What, Raby's new nephew?"

"That is the man."

Mr. Carden was visibly discomposed by this communication. He did not choose to tell Coventry how shocked he was at his own daughter's conduct; but, after a considerable pause, he said, "If what you have told me is the exact truth, I shall interpose parental authority, and she shall keep her engagement with you, in spite of all the Littles in the world."

"Pray do not be harsh," said Coventry.

"No, but I shall be firm."

"Insanity in his family, for one thing," suggested Coventry, scarcely above a whisper.

"That is true; his father committed suicide. But really that consideration is not needed. My daughter must keep her engagements, as I keep mine."

With this understanding the friends parted.

CHAPTER XXVI.

Grace happened to have a headache next morning, and did not come down to breakfast: but it was Sat.u.r.day, and Mr. Carden always lunched at home on that day. So did Grace, because it was one of Little's days. This gave Mr. Carden the opportunity he wanted. When they were alone he fixed his eyes on his daughter, and said quietly, "What is your opinion of--a jilt?"

"A heartless, abominable creature," replied Grace, as glibly as if she was repeating some familiar catechism.

"Would you like to be called one?"

"Oh, papa!"

"Is there n.o.body who has the right to apply the term to you?"

"I hope not." (Red.)

"You encouraged Mr. Coventry's addresses?"

"I am afraid I did not discourage them, as I wish I had. It is so hard to foresee every thing."

"Pray do you remember the fifth day of last December?"

"Can I ever forget it?" (Redder.)

"Is it true that Mr. Coventry proposed for you, that day?"

"Yes."

"And you accepted him."

"No; no. Then he has told you so? How ungenerous! All I did was, I hesitated, and cried, and didn't say 'no,' downright--like a fool. Oh, papa, have pity on me, and save me." And now she was pale.

Mr. Carden's paternal heart was touched by this appeal, but he was determined to know the whole truth. "You could love him, in time, I suppose?"

"Never."

"Why?"

"Because--"

"Now tell me the truth. Have you another attachment?"

"Yes, dear papa." (In a whisper and as red as fire.)

"Somebody of whom you are not proud."

"I AM proud of him. He is Mr. Coventry's superior. He is everybody's superior in everything in the world."

"No, Grace, you can hardly be proud of your attachment; if you had been, you would not have hidden it all this time from your father." And Mr.

Carden sighed.

Grace burst out crying, and flung herself on her knees and clung, sobbing, to him.

"There, there," said he, "I don't want to reproach you; but to advise you."