stern voice; "if I do not marry her, we are
ruined."

"Yes, yes, I know all that; you have told me
often enough! I only say that I do not like
the poor thing to be forced; and she certainly
does not seem inclined to make a willing
bride."

"I have love enough for two, and will enough
as well," said Faber.

His sister looked at him with genuine
surprise. "Do you mean that you love her?" she
asked, slowly.

"As I never loved before, and could never
love again," he answered. "I have loved her
from the beginning, and if even she was not a
necessity by circumstances, she should be my
wife by my own free will and act of love."

"You are mad," said Susan, disdainfully;
"I should as soon have thought of your loving
a doll."

"I dare say you would," he answered, with
indifference; "but you see you do not know
much about love."

"Still, I shall not like her to be forced,"
said Susan, going back to the point.

"She shall be my wife, forced or not,"
repeated Faber; and left the room.

What he had said about their being ruined
was only too true. More than a year ago this
had come upon them, not by their own fault
so much as through the crafty advice of their
lawyer, who had persuaded Faber to invest in
certain mining speculations in which he held a
large stake, and at a time when he knew the
property was worth nothing. A convenient way
of shifting his own liabilities and saving
himself— not uncommon among friends. Which
state of things made Hester in truth a necessity,
as he had said; and willing or unwilling, she
had to be wooed and worn, even if she was never
won. And yet he resolved to win her. A man
of strong passions and arbitrary will cannot
easily accept defeat; and whatever the secret
charm to him which Susan could not discover,
the result was, he loved her, and he was
determined that she should love him— after
marriage if not before.

When he left his sister he went out to
Hester sitting in the garden, watching the white
ships sailing— sailing, who knew where? watching
them with that vague wistfulness one feels
so often when looking at the sea, that desire
one scarcely knows for what, but for something
removed from our present life. Faber stood by
her for some time, studying her face as she
looked and dreamed; then he said, in a low, soft
voice, softer and richer than usual, and it was
always soft to her: "Would you like to travel,
Hester?"

Her eyes filled with tears. She remembered
who had asked the same question just about a
year ago, and how it had been answered.

"I should like to leave Greymoor," she said.

"You do not like it?"

"No; you know that I do not," she answered,
quietly, and turned away.

"You can go where you like, Hester," Faber
said. "We are your friends, not your jailers.
Where would you like to go?"

"Home," said Hester, and looked into his
face.

He blenched a little; but then he took her
hands and held them, though she tried to
release them. "You shall go to Fellfoot next
week, or earlier— as soon as you will; on one
condition," he said, speaking slowly and
deliberately, though still very softly; "that you take
me with you, as one having the right to be
there— the right to be by your side."

"What do you mean?" she said, startled.

"That you take me with you as your
husband!"

She gave a cry and covered her face, he
having loosed her hands to put his arms round
her waist.

"It must be, Hester," he continued. "I
love you, and I have vowed to Heaven to make
you mine."

"To Heaven!" she cried, lifting up her white
face. "What have you to do with Heaven,
cousin Faber?"

He shrank back as if she had struck him, and
then, as if fearing she would escape him, he
drew her to him again, and made her sit down
on the seat by him. "Hester," he then said,
speaking calmly as to voice and manner, though
passions too hot for words were raging in his
heart, "you believe that you are the owner of
Fellfoot, do you not? Yes, I see that you do.
Listen to me attentively. You are not the
owner; it belongs to my sister Susan and
myself, as the heirs-at-law of your father. You
and your poor sister were not his heirs, Hester
—you were illegitimate: your mother was
never married." He paused, waiting for her to
speak; but she said nothing. "At this
moment," he continued, "you have absolutely
nothing in the world but what you receive
through me. I have not cared to bring this
before you hitherto. I have waited until time
had a little healed and restored you, before
touching on matters that must be so painful
to you, my poor child! Also, I have waited
until I spoke to you of my love, reserving
this as an argument to decide you. It must be,
Hester; your only safety lies by my side. You
must marry me that you may live."

"I will not!" cried Hester, tearing herself
away from him. "I will die first."

"You will, you must, and you shall,"
returned her cousin, in an inflexible, monotonous
voice. "If I carry you to the church in my
arms like a child, you shall be my wife. I love
you, and in your own interests I will make you
love me!"

"Never!" she cried, flinging up his hand.
"I hate you! You are terrible and loathsome
to me— you are telling me lies— you are all over
blood!"

And as she spoke the red sunset poured over
him, as if it did indeed shine through blood.

They did not meet again that evening; for
Hester rushed to her own room, the door of