half an hour’s start, and let me be, till you find me at my work in the morning. I shall be at my work in the morning just as usual.”
Clasping his hands, he uttered a short unearthly broken cry, and went his way. The brother and sister were left looking at one another near a lamp in the solitary churchyard, and the boy’s face clouded and darkened, as he said in a rough tone: “What is the meaning of this? What have you done to my best friend? Out with the truth!”
“Charley!” said his sister. “Speak a little more considerately!”
“I am not in the humour for consideration, or for nonsense of any sort,” replied the boy. “What have you been doing? Why has Mr. Headstone gone from us in that way?”
“He asked me—you know he asked me—to be his wife, Charley.”
“Well?” said the boy, impatiently.
“And I was obliged to tell him that I could not be his wife.”
“You were obliged to tell him,” repeated the boy angrily, between his teeth, and rudely pushing her away. “You were obliged to tell him! Do you know that he is worth fifty of you?”
“It may easily be so, Charley, but I cannot marry him.”
“You mean that you are conscious that you can’t appreciate him, and don’t deserve him, I suppose?”
“I mean that I do not like him, Charley, and that I will never marry him.”
“Upon my soul,” exclaimed the boy, “you are a nice picture of a sister! Upon my soul, you are a pretty piece of disinterestedness! And so all my