face could face it out so.

"Yes!--and Angela's," said he.

I found the room reeling round in an uncertain way, like a labouring,
humming-top. "Explain yourself," said I, holding on by one hand to an
arm-chair.

"Dear old darling Charley!" returned Edwin, in his cordial manner,
"consider! When you were going on so happily with Angela, why should I
compromise you with the old gentleman by making you a party to our
engagement, and (after he had declined my proposals) to our secret
intention? Surely it was better that you should be able honourably to
say, 'He never took counsel with me, never told me, never breathed a word
of it.' If Angela suspected it, and showed me all the favour and support
she could--God bless her for a precious creature and a priceless wife!--I
couldn't help that. Neither I nor Emmeline ever told her, any more than
we told you. And for the same good reason, Charley; trust me, for the
same good reason, and no other upon earth!"

Emmeline was Angela's cousin. Lived with her. Had been brought up with
her. Was her father's ward. Had property.

"Emmeline is in the chaise, my dear Edwin!" said I, embracing him with
the greatest affection.

"My good fellow!" said he, "do you suppose I should be going to Gretna
Green without her?"

I ran out with Edwin, I opened the chaise door, I took Emmeline in my