this little _fool;_ your mother has led you to think of her. You
will marry her!"

"I will marry you," says he coldly, "if you will marry me."

"I have told you that it is impossible"--she draws a deep
breath--"at present."

"You will not trust me, then, to make a fortune for you?"

"A fortune! It takes so _long_ to make; and," smiling, and drawing
nearer to him, and suddenly flinging her arms around his neck, "are
we not happy as we are?"

"No." He loosens her arms lightly, and, still holding them, looks at
her. How fair she is, how desirable! "Marian," says he hoarsely,
"think! It is indeed my last word. Will you trust yourself to me as
things are, or will you reject me? Marian, say you will marry me as
I now am--poor, ruined."

He holds her, gazing at her despairingly. She would have spoken,
perhaps, but no words come to her; no words to soften her grim
determination. She _will_ not marry him poor--and yet she loves him.

Rylton, with a stifled oath, pushes her from him.

"This is the end," says he.

He goes to the door.