one of her hands round his arm. "What have I done to you, or you to
me? How have we been enemies? It is fate, it is poverty that has
been our common enemy, Maurice, remember what we _have_ been to each
other."

"It is what I dare not remember," says he hoarsely.

His face is resolutely turned from hers.

"Well, well, forget, then, _if you can_. As for me, remembrance will
be my sole joy."

"It is madness, Marian, to talk to me like this. What is to be
gained by it?"

"Why, nothing, nothing, and so let us forget; let us begin again as
true friends only."

"There is no hope of that," says he.

His voice is a mere whisper.

"Oh yes, there is--there," eagerly, _"must_ be. What! Would you
throw me over altogether, Maurice? Oh, that I _could_ not bear! Why
should we not be as brother and sister to each other? Yes, yes,"
vehemently; "tell me it shall be so. You will ask me to your new
house, Maurice, won't you?"

She is looking up into his face, her hand still pressing his arm.