The next moment it was
entirely secreted in her bosom. She sauntered in-doors, and scudded
upstairs to her room to read it.
The writer told her in a few agitated words that their fathers had met,
and he must speak to her directly. Would she meet him for a moment at the
garden gate at nine o'clock that evening?
"No, no, no!" cried Mary, as if he was there. She was frightened. Suppose
they should be caught. The shame--the disgrace. But oh, the temptation!
Well, then, how wrong of him to tempt her! She must not go. There was no
time to write and refuse; but she must not go. She would not go. And in
this resolution she persisted. Nine o'clock struck, and she never moved.
Then she began to picture Walter's face of disappointment and his
unhappiness. At ten minutes past nine she tied a handkerchief round her
head and went.
There he was at the gate, pale and agitated. He did not give her time to
scold him.
"Pray forgive me," he said; "but I saw no other way. It is all over,
Mary, unless you love me as I love you.
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