both."

"Indeed, Mr. Wingfold!" returned Helen playfully.

"So that is how you regard marriage!--Sure to bring trouble!"

She laid her head on his shoulder.

"Trouble to every one, my Helen, like the gospel itself; more trouble to
you than to me, but none to either that will not serve to bring us
closer to each other," he answered. "But about those two--well, I am
both doubtful and hopeful. At all events I can not wish them not to
marry. I think it will be for both of them a step nearer to the truth.
The trouble will, perhaps, drive them to find God. That any one who had
seen and loved our Lord, should consent to marry one, whatever that one
was besides, who did not at least revere and try to obey Him, seems to
me impossible. But again I say there is no such matter involved between
them.--Shall I confess to you, that, with all her frankness, all her
charming ways, all the fullness of the gaze with which her black eyes
look into yours, there is something about Juliet that puzzles me? At
times I have thought she must be in some trouble, out of which she was
on the point of asking me to help her; at others I have fancied she was
trying to be agreeable against her inclination, and did not more than
half approve of me. Sometimes, I confess, the shadow of a doubt crosses
me: is she altogether a true woman? But that vanishes the moment she
smiles. I wish she could have been open with me. I could have helped
her, I am pretty sure. As it is, I have not got one step nearer the real
woman than when first I saw her at the rector's."

"I know," said Helen. "But don't you think it may be that she has never