wonderful tidings. He, Luke, had inherited a
fortune, the bulk of which I never clearly knew,
but which was large even in my father's eyes.
He had received notice of this three weeks
before, when he had left the Mill-house for a
run up to London. He had kept the affair a
secret till he had actually become master of
his newly acquired wealth. In his absence,
matters had come to a crisis at the mills, and
now he had returned just in time to save the
credit of the firm, and with offers to my father
to sink a large amount of capital in the business
upon—one condition. In what words my
father was made acquainted with that condition
I do not know. How it was made known
to me I am going to do my best to relate.

Looking back now, it is hard to find a
motive for Luke Elphinstone strong enough to
explain his conduct at this time. He must
have known that I had a suspicion of his suit,
and that I had done all in my power to check
it. What he proposed to gain for himself by a
victory over the will of an insignificant girl,
with neither much beauty, much wit, nor any
dowry, who had hitherto spent her life in
loneliness and obscurity, I cannot attempt to guess.
From my own experience I will state here that
no contempt can equal that which a woman
feels for a man who forces himself upon her
when he knows that she has conceived a
dislike to him. And I did dislike Luke Elphinstone.
It was not that he was ugly; on the
contrary, he had a well-made figure, fine curly
black hair, and a smooth pale complexion, which
gave a look of refinement to his face. There
were many who called him handsome. But his
features were too sharp and keen, and there
was a narrowness about his forehead, and a
furtive look in his eyes, the expression of qualities
in his character which had always repelled me.
There was a cruel determination about him when
his will was crossed in little things, and a wavering
hesitation when important steps were to be
taken; and these two points in his character
seemed to be always under my eyes in those days.

Not one day did Luke Elphinstone lose in
making known what his stipulation had been to
me. The next morning after that important
night I rose early, and with great content of
heart went out to the orchard to pick up the
fallen apples. A network of sunshine was
wisped about the old trees; the river was leaping
like a river of gold at the foot of the hill:
above the sycamores that lined it the smoke
went up from the chimneys of the mill. The
hum from the distant beetling-house made a
pleasant song in my ears; the bell rang out, the
workpeople flocked home to their cottages for
breakfast, and Luke Elphinstone came over the
wooden bridge.

He espied me in the orchard, and came to
join me. I felt so amiable towards every one
that I was prepared to give him a friendly good
morrow; but something in his face, as he
approached, gave me a sudden apprehension of
what was coming, and I began walking quickly
towards the house. He begged me to stay a
little; he had something very important to say
to me. He took my hand and drew it through
his arm, and began to pour out a great deal that
I do not care to remember, a great deal that
startled me with a painful surprise. I was
grieved and shocked that he should feel as he
did. I lost my presence of mind in my dismay,
and, while striving for words to soften the pain I
was about to give, I had not my answer ready
at the proper moment. Perhaps this gave him
encouragement. He held my hand which I
was drawing away, and pressed a diamond ring
upon my finger.

"Accept it, darling," he said, "as an earnest
of my love, and wear it as a token of your
promise to become my wife."

"Oh no, no, no!" I said, trying to pull it
off; "I have not accepted your love. I have
not promised to be your wife. I cannot do
either, nor wear your ring."

My hand was swelled with the cold; the ring
was tight, and would not move. How long it
remained on my finger, and how at last it was
removed, shall be seen. Luke Elphinstone
stood by and smiled at my fierce endeavours to
get it off. That smile took all the pity out of
my heart.

"Take it as an omen, Mattie," he said; "it
will not come away. You cannot get rid of me.
What must be, must."

There spoke the true Luke. "Must?" I
repeated, drawing myself up and eyeing him with
defiance, and then turned on my heel and
walked away, holding my bejewelled hand out
at arm's length, as if I were just waiting for the
convenience of a hatchet to strike it off. How
I fumed over it all that day, while Elspie tried
her utmost skill to remove the ring!

"And where wad you find a brawer man?" said
Elspie. "Bairn, bairn, ye have been ower hasty.
Do not throw the love o' a kind heart ower yer
shouther. Ye'll greet for it all yer life."

"It may be that I am born to greet all my
life, Elspie," said I, a sudden presentiment of
trouble bringing a rush of tears to my eyes,
"but I'll never greet for Luke Elphinstone.''

But that evening, when my father was sleeping
in the dining-room, and I was sitting alone
in the firelight in the drawing-room, nursing
my inflamed finger, and fretting over the stubborn
ring, Luke Elphinstone came in, and began
his irksome love-making again. He spoke
smoothly and pleadingly.

"I have suddenly become a rich man,
Mattie," he said, "or else it might have been
many years before I could have spoken to you
in this way. I cannot enjoy my riches unless
I share them with you. If you go on refusing
me every day for a year, I am determined not to
take your denial."

I tried to keep my temper, and to parley with
him patiently.

"What do you see in me? " said I. "I am
poor, I am no beauty, I am stupid enough, I am
not even good tempered, and I do not like you.
You will easily find a wife who will bring you all
the qualities I do not possess, and who will be
thankful for your love and your riches."

He smiled at this speech, and said, "I think