leaves. It shall suffice therefore to say that, in a will-less sort of a
way, Juliet let the matter drift; that, although she withheld explicit
consent, she yet at length allowed Faber to speak as if she had given
it; that they had long ceased to talk about God or no God, about life
and death, about truth and superstition, and spoke only of love, and the
days at hand, and how they would spend them; that they poured out their
hearts in praising and worshiping each other; and that, at last, Juliet
found herself as firmly engaged to be Paul's wife, as if she had granted
every one of the promises he had sought to draw from her, but which she
had avoided giving in the weak fancy that thus she was holding herself
free. It was perfectly understood in all the neighborhood that the
doctor and Miss Meredith were engaged. Both Helen and Dorothy felt a
little hurt at her keeping an absolute silence toward them concerning
what the country seemed to know; but when they spoke of it to her, she
pointedly denied any engagement, and indeed although helplessly drifting
toward marriage, had not yet given absolute consent even in her own
mind. She dared not even then regard it as inevitable. Her two friends
came to the conclusion that she could not find the courage to face
disapproval, and perhaps feared expostulation.

"She may well be ashamed of such an unequal yoking!" said Helen to her
husband.

"There is no unequal yoking in it that I see," he returned. "In the
matter of faith, what is there to choose between them? I see nothing.
They may carry the yoke straight enough. If there _be_ one of them
further from the truth than the other, it must be the one who says, _I
go sir_, and goes not. Between _don't believe_ and _don't care, I_ don't
care to choose. Let them marry and God bless them. It will be good for
them--for one thing if for no other--it is sure to bring trouble to