bush he had seen a builder's plank. This he dragged out and passed it across the chasm, leaning the other end upon a ledge of brickwork which butted from the house.
He stepped quickly across, gripped the bars and found a foothold on the ledge, the girl standing watching him without any sign of interest. He knew something was wrong. He could not even guess what that something was. This was not the girl he knew, but an Oliva Cresswell from whom all vitality and life had been sapped.
"You know me?" he said. "I am Mr. Beale."
"I know you are Mr. Beale," she replied evenly.
"I have come to save you," he said rapidly. "Will you trust me? I want you to trust me," he said earnestly. "I want you to summon every atom of faith you have in human nature and invest it in me. Will you do this for me?"
"I will do this for you," she said, like a child repeating a lesson.
"I—I want you to marry me." He realized as he said these words in what his fear was founded. He knew now that it was her refusal even to go through the form of marriage which he dared not face.
The truth leapt up to him and sent the blood pulsing through his head, that behind and beyond his professional care for her he loved her. He waited with bated breath, expecting her amazement, her indignation, her distress. But she was serene and untroubled, did not so much as raise her eyelids by the fraction of an inch as she answered:
"I will marry you."
He tried to speak but could only mutter a hoarse, "Thank you."
He turned his head. Homo stood at the end of the plank and he beckoned him.
Parson Homo came to the centre of the frail bridge, slipped a Prayer Book from his tail pocket and opened it.
"Dearly beloved, we are come together here in the sight of God to join together this Man and this Woman in Holy Matrimony. . . .
"I require and charge you both as ye will answer at the
