"Whew!" smiled Mary Grey, with a little bird-like whistle. "How fast we are getting on, to be sure! Why, a few minutes ago we were afraid that we were taking a liberty in coming here to call on our lady-love at all!

And now we are pressing her to name the day! See here, you impatient boy, answer me this: When did I ever promise to 'make you happy' _at all_?" she inquired, in a bantering tone.

"But you gave me hopes--oh, do not say that you never gave me hopes!" he pleaded, turning red and pale and trembling from head to foot as before.

"Well, I don't say it; for I know I promised if ever I should marry living man I should marry you. I repeat that promise now, dear Craven,"

she added, gravely and tenderly.

"Ah, Heaven bless you for those blessed words! But when--_when_ will you make me happy? Oh, if I possess your love, when--_when_ shall I possess your hand?" he pleaded.

And then, as if suddenly ashamed of his own vehemence, he stopped in confusion.

"You have won my love, you petulant boy!" she answered, archly. Then, dropping her voice to its tenderest music, she murmured: "What would you do to win my hand?"

"Anything--anything under the sun!" he answered, wildly, and forgetting all his embarra.s.sment. "Whatever man has done to win woman would I do to win you--more than ever man did to win woman would I do to win you! I would renounce my friends, betray my country, abjure my faith, _lose my soul_ for you!"

"Words, words, words! You talk recklessly! You know you would not do the least one of these dreadful deeds for me," answered Mary Grey, laying her hand on his lips.

"Try me!"

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE PRICE OF A SOUL.

I love you, love you; for your love would lose State, station, heaven, mankind's, my own esteem.

--BYRON.

He spoke these two words with such a desperate look, in such a desperate tone, that Mary Grey was half frightened; for she saw that he was in that fatal mood in which men have been driven to crime or death for the love of woman.

This was the mood to which she wished to bring him, and in which she wished to keep him until he should have done his work; and yet it half frightened her now.

"Hush--hush!" she murmured. "Be quiet! There are people in the next room. They may hear you. And I am sure they should do so they would take you for a lunatic."

"But--do you believe me? Do you believe that I would defy the universe in your service? Do you believe me? If not, try me!" he aspirated, vehemently.

"I _do_ believe you. And some day I _will_ try you. You have won my love; but he who wins my hand must first prove his love for me in a way that will leave no doubt upon the fact."

"Then I am safe, for I am sure to prove it," he said, with a sigh of intense relief.

She looked at him again, and knew that he spoke as he felt. Yes, for her sake he would "march to death as to a festival."

"Now, then, will you be good and quiet and tell me news of my old neighbors at Wendover and Blue Cliffs?" she archly inquired.

"I do not think I can. I wish to sit here and look at you and think only of you. It would be a painful wrench to tear away my thoughts from you and employ them upon anything else. Let me sit here in my heaven!" he pleaded.

"Yes, love; but remember I am very anxious to know something about my dear friends, whom I have not heard from for a month. Can not you gratify me?" coaxed Mary Grey.

"I can not fix my mind upon them long enough to remember anything. You absorb it all," he answered, dreamily gazing upon her.

"But if I ask you questions surely you can answer them," said Mary Grey, who, though very anxious for information later than that afforded by Mrs. Wheatfield's letter, was not ill-pleased at the devotion which baffled her curiosity.

"Yes, I will answer any question you ask. That will not be so much of a wrench," he said.

"Then how is my dear friend, Emma Cavendish?" inquired the traitress.

"Well and happy, at Blue Cliffs," answered the lover.

"Is it true, as I hear, that she is to marry--" Mary Grey hesitated for a moment before her choking voice could p.r.o.nounce his name--"Mr. Alden Lytton?"

"Yes, I believe so. Everybody says so."

"When?"

"As soon as he gets established in his profession, I suppose."

"Tell me about him."

"Well, he is coming here on the first of the month to find an office and fit it up. And then he is going on to Philadelphia to select books for a law library."

"Ah, he is coming here and he is going on to Philadelphia. Yes, yes, yes, yes! That will do," murmured Mary Grey, to herself.

"What did you say?" inquired Craven Kyte.

"I said that it was a good plan; but it will take money," answered Mrs.

Grey.

"Yes, that it will. And he has got it. That mysterious guardian of his has sent him ten thousand dollars to begin with."

"A round sum! When did you say he was coming here?"

"On the first of next month; or, perhaps, before the end of this month."

"Good! Very good!"

"Good for what?" innocently inquired Craven Kyte.

"Good for his professional prospects, of course! The sooner he begins the better, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes; certainly!"

"And when does he go to Philadelphia?"

"Just as soon as he has selected his law office and set painters and glaziers and paper-hangers and upholsterers and such to fit it up. For no expense is to be spared, and the young lawyer is to set up in style.

For such is the wish of his guardian."

"You know this?"