again, tell me that you do not despise me as untruthful, do not pity me as
insane."

"Hush, hush!" I said, drawing her to my breast. "Of all you tell me we
will talk hereafter. The scales of our science have no weights fine
enough for the gossamer threads of a maiden's pure fancies. Enough for
me--for us both--if out from all such illusions start one truth, told to
you, lovely child, from the heavens; told to me, ruder man, on the earth;
repeated by each pulse of this heart that woos you to hear and to
trust,--now and henceforth through life unto death, 'Each has need of the
other,'--I of you, I of you! my Lilian! my Lilian!"




CHAPTER XVIII.

In spite of the previous assurance of Mrs. Poyntz, it was not without an
uneasy apprehension that I approached the cedar-tree, under which Mrs.
Ashleigh still sat, her friend beside her. I looked on the fair creature
whose arm was linked in mine. So young, so singularly lovely, and with
all the gifts of birth and fortune which bend avarice and ambition the
more submissively to youth and beauty, I felt as if I had wronged what a
parent might justly deem her natural lot.

"Oh, if your mother should disapprove!" said I, falteringly. Lilian
leaned on my arm less lightly. "If I had thought so," she said with her
soft blush, "should I be thus by your side?"

So we passed under the boughs of the dark tree, and Lilian left me and