"And the young man will lose all for you
—fool!"

"Lose all?"

"Yes. You marry Carl, he will reconcile
his father to Robin, and the prodigal will get
his share at the old man's death. You
marry Robin, he will not get a penny. You
may both starve, and I'd have you remember
that when poverty comes in at the door, love
flies out at the window."

Alice treated the warning with indifference;
"We shall want but little, and surely we may
earn that little," she said, quietly.

Mistress Margery laughed her harsh
discordant laugh.

"I would not keep you from your will if it
lay with me—what is to be will be, for all I
can say, but I shall not get into trouble with
Cousin Ike about the business. Get away;
pack up your traps to-night; to-morrow
morning you march."

Margery Pilkington's word was not to be
gainsaid, and Alice departed to her chamber
silent and obedient.

CHAPTER THE THIRD.

ABOUT three weeks after their encounter
by the river, Robin and Alice appeared at Ike
Branston's breakfast table together.

"Father, we are married;" said Robin,
without any repentant, theatrical demonstrations;
he stood firmly, holding his wife by
the hand.

"O, indeed, married?" echoed the old
man.

Carl's face had worn its down-looking
expression ever since Alice administered her
last rebuff, and it did not lighten at this news,
as may be supposed. Mistress Margery
Pilkington had not thought it necessary to
communicate to her cousin that the charge he
had confided to her tender guardianship had
evaded her watchfulness and disappeared
one morning early; therefore Robin had the
felicity of breaking the ice with his relatives.
His father received the announcement without
evincing surprise or displeasure; he
looked quite cool, but nobody who knew
Ike Branston liked his cool manner; it
meant evil.

"Uncle, don't be angry with Robin, for
my sake;" Alice pleaded softly; she understood
the dangerous warning of his countenance.

"Angry! I am never angry; daughter,
take a seat; Robin, have some coffee: Carl,
help your brother," said Ike with his
circular smile, which was a triumph of bland
hypocrisy: he laid an unctuous stress on
the changed position of Alice as his daughter;
he used to call her niece; never by her
name, which was also the name of his
deceased wife. Robin, without a suspicion of
the genuineness of his father's cordiality,
threw off his rather proud yet anxious
restraint, and glided into conversation with him
about his intentions.

"And pray where have you pitched your
tent, Robin; where are you going to live?
You begin housekeeping, of course?" asked
Ike gravely.

"Why, yes—I suppose so. Can you
recommend me a house, sir," his son said,
with great cheerfulness.

"There is an excellent mansion to let in
Great Howard Street—if it would not be
too small for you—rent between three and
four hundred; it is beautifully furnished, and
nearly new. The Earl of Monypence had it for
a few seasons. Here, my dear, is something
towards your housekeeping expenses;" and,
with exquisite grace and urbanity, Ike
handed his daughter-in-law a five-pound
note, which he had been ostentatiously
extracting from his pocket-book, as he
suggested a residence for the young pair. Carl
seemed inwardly diverted at the irony of
his parent, but he kept his eyes on the
morning paper, except for the instant when
the bank-note was presented, but he did
not succeed in seeing its amount, and was
rather afraid that a spasm of generosity
might have seized the old man at the sight
of his younger son's beaming countenance.
Robin, in the same doubt, thanked his
father warmly; but Alice was uneasy, and
was relieved when the dismal hall-clock
struck ten, and Ike and Carl rose to go to
their office.

"Let me know where you settle down,
Robin; I suppose we shall see you from
time to time; I don't like family dissensions,
you are aware; good morning," and
with a hurried yet expansive hand-shaking
Ike ushered his younger son and Alice out
into the street; Carl gave his brother a
cool nod, and overlooking his cousin
altogether, marched away, as if the most
pressing affairs called him.

When Robin and Alice had got a few
hundred yards from Ike Branston's house,
Alice whispered—

"It was only a five-pound note, Robin."

Her husband looked surprised for a
moment, and then broke into a merry laugh.

"We ought not to have expected
anything better," he said. "Never mind, Alice,
I'll turn photographer, painter of portraits
for the million—anything. Let us go and
look at that cottage we saw advertised in
yesterday's Times—it will suit our fortunes."

"I'll be as happy as a queen there, Robin,"
Alice gaily responded, and she stepped out
cheerfully, as if her heart were lightened
of a load; she was, indeed, glad that no
form of dependence on her uncle was to mar
her new life; and to be free of him and
poor, was preferable to a luxurious slavery.

The cottage in question was far enough out
of London to look pleasantly rural in its little
garden fenced off from some meadow fields
by a wire fence, and hidden from the road by
a very high, thick, and closely-clipped hedge.
It was an old cottage with pebble-dashed