"Not in plain words. But there was not much to indicate hope. And yet I
cling to the fancy that she will come to love me in the end. To think
otherwise would be utter misery to me. I cannot tell you how dearly I
love her, and how weak I am about this business. It seems contemptible
for a man to talk about a broken heart; but I shall carry an empty one to
my grave unless I win Marian Nowell for my wife."

"You shall win her!" cried the Captain energetically. "You are a noble
fellow, sir, and will make her an excellent husband. She will not be so
foolish as to reject such a disinterested affection. Besides," he added,
hesitating a little, "I have a very shrewd notion that all this apparent
indifference is only shyness on my little girl's part, and that she loves
you."

"You believe that!" cried Gilbert eagerly.

"It is only guesswork on my part, of course. I am an old bachelor, you
see, and have had very little experience as to the signs and tokens of
the tender passion. But I will sound my little girl by and by. She will
be more ready to confess the truth to her old uncle than she would to
you, perhaps. I think you have been a trifle hasty about this affair.
There is so much in time and custom."

"It is only a cold kind of love that grows out of custom," Gilbert
answered gloomily. "But I daresay you are right, and that it would have
been better for me to have waited."

"You may hope everything, if you can-only be patient," said the Captain.
"I tell you frankly, that nothing would make me happier than to see my
dear child married to a good man. I have had many dreary thoughts about