"O Willie!" cried she "you naughty boy. There is nothing pretty--
what have you brought me here for? Let me go; I won't be held."

"Only one word. Nay, if you wish it so much, you may go," said
Michael, suddenly loosing his hold as she struggled. But now she was
free, she only drew off a step or two, murmuring something about
Willie.

"You are going, then?" said Michael, with seeming sadness. "You
won't hear me say a word of what is in my heart."

"How can I tell whether it is what I should like to hear?" replied
she, still drawing back.

"That is just what I want you to tell me; I want you to hear it and
then to tell me whether you like it or not."

"Well, you may speak," replied she, turning her back, and beginning
to plait the hem of her apron.

He came close to her ear.

"I'm sorry I hurt Willie the other night. He has forgiven me. Can
you?"

"You hurt him very badly," she replied. "But you are right to be
sorry. I forgive you."

"Stop, stop!" said he, laying his hand upon her arm. "There is