"Is this a vow? or do you mean to be a nun?"

She shook her head.

"The people are not so wrong who call you wilful, although the name
they give you is not kind. Have you ever considered that you stand
alone in the world, and that your perverseness must make your sick
mother's illness worse to bear, her life more bitter? And what sound
reason can you have to give for rejecting an honest hand, stretched
out to help you and your mother? Answer me, Laurella."

"I have a reason," she said reluctantly, and speaking low; "but it
is one I cannot give."

"Not give! not give to me? not to your confessor, whom you surely
know to be your friend--or is he not?"

Laurella nodded.

"Then, child, unburden your heart. If your reason be a good one, I
shall be the very first to uphold you in it. Only you are young, and
know so little of the world. A time may come when you will find
cause to regret a chance of happiness thrown away for some foolish
fancy now."

Shyly she threw a furtive glance over to the other end of the boat,
where the young boatman sat, rowing fast. His woollen cap was pulled
deep down over his eyes; he was gazing far across the water, with
averted head, sunk, as it appeared, in his own meditations.