The Rector of St. Marks

"Yes, willingly," Arthur replied, wishing that she would go before

she indulged in any more speculations as to why he did not love Anna

Ruthven.

But Lucy was not done yet, and Arthur felt as if the earth were giving

way beneath his feet when, as he lifted her into the saddle and took

her hand at parting, she said, "Now, remember, I am not going to be

jealous of that other love. There is only one person who could make me

so, and that is Anna Ruthven; but I know it was not she, for that

night we all came from Mrs. Hobbs' and she went with me up-stairs, I

asked her honestly if you had ever offered yourself to her, and she

told me you had not. I think you showed a lack of taste, but I am glad

it was not Anna."

Lucy was far down the road ere Arthur recovered from the shock her

last words had given him. What did it mean, and why had Anna said he

never proposed? Was there some mistake, and he the victim of it? There

was a blinding mist before the young man's eyes as he returned to his

study, and went over again, with all the incidents of Anna's refusal,

even to the reading of the letter which he already knew by heart.

Then, as the thought came over him that possibly Mrs. Meredith played

him false in some way, he groaned aloud, and the great sweat drops

fell upon the table where he leaned his head. But this could not be,

he reasoned. Lucy was mistaken. She had not heard aright. Somebody,

surely, was mistaken, or he had committed a fatal error.

"But I must abide by it," he said, lifting up his pallid face. "God

forbid the wrong I have done in asking Lucy to be my wife when my

heart belonged to Anna. God help me to forget the one and love the

other as I ought. She is a lovely little girl, trusting me so wholly

that I can make her happy, and I will; but Anna! oh, Anna!"

It was a despairing cry, such as a newly-engaged man should never have

sent after another than his affianced bride. Arthur thought so, too,

fighting back his first love with an iron will, and, after that first

hour of anguish, burying it so far from sight that he went that night

to Captain Humphreys and told of his engagement; then called upon his

bride-elect, trying so hard to be satisfied that, when, at a late

hour, he returned to the rectory, he was more than content; and, by

way of fortifying himself still further, wrote the letter which

Thornton Hastings read at Newport.

And that was how it happened.