one would.'

'Fair preacher,--' began Rowland, but Dorothy interrupted him.

'Nay then, an' thou betake thee to thy jibes, I have done,' she
said.

'Be not angry with me; it is but my nature, which for thy sake I
will control. If thou canst not love me, wilt thou not then pity me
a little?'

'That I may pity thee, answer me what good thing is there in thee
wherefore I should love thee.'

'Wouldst thou have a man trumpet his own praises?'

'I fear not that of thee who hast but the trumpet--I will tell thee
this much: I have never seen in thee that thou didst love save for
the pastime thereof. I doubt if thou lovest thy master for more than
thy place.'

'Oh cousin!'

'Be honest with thyself, Rowland. If thou would have me for thy
cousin, it must be on the ground of truth.'

Rowland possessed at least goodnature: few young men would have
borne to be so severely handled. But then, while one's good opinion
of himself remains untroubled, confesses no touch, gives out no
hollow sound, shrinks not self-hurt with the doubt of its own