In spite of the exciting conversation of the last half-hour Mr. Abbot appeared more than usually cheerful during tea. He was indeed more like the brilliant, entertaining host that he used to be in their former beautiful home in San Francisco, than Virgie had seen him since their troubles had come upon them.

At the same, time the young girl wondered what could have occurred to make their guest so silent and preoccupied. It was evidently an effort for him to converse at all, while two or three times he was addressed more than once before he responded, but his glance whenever it met hers thrilled her strangely, and kept a beautiful flush upon her cheeks throughout the meal.

When it was concluded the two young people went out upon the porch to view the sunset, while Mr. Abbot retired to his room where he began looking over and rearranging the papers in his desk.

There was no need now to send that written history with its request for fatherly care for Virgie, to Lawrence Bancroft. He had not a doubt as to the result of Sir William Heath's wooing. He was sure that Virgie loved him, and he was filled with a blessed content and fervent gratitude that so bright a future was opening before his darling.

She would go to another country where none of the old troubles could touch her, where no one would be able to point the finger of scorn at her and whisper that her name had been branded with dishonor, and where, surrounded by her noble husband's love and care, occupying a high social position with every good thing that wealth could secure, her life would be one long summer of peace and happiness.

Meantime an awkward pause had fallen between Virgie and her lover standing outside upon the porch.

It was broken at last by the baronet with a very trite remark:

"What a warm evening."

"Yes, it has been a very warm day," answered Virgie, feeling very much inclined to laugh, for never before had they been forced to talk of the weather in order to keep up a conversation.

"Let us go to our seat under the old pine tree," said Sir William, and without waiting for her consent, he stepped down to lead the way.

Virgie glanced at him questioningly.

The unusual gravity which she had observed during tea still rested upon his face and vibrated in his tones.

She wondered at it, and yet, although she could not have told why, her heart began to beat with quickened throbs on account of it.

Reaching their favorite nook, Sir William gently seated his companion, and then stood looking down upon her a moment without speaking.

Then he spoke, and there was a tenderer note in his voice than she had ever heard before.

"Virgie," he said, "have you ever wondered why I came here and turned miner?"

She looked up quickly as he spoke her name thus for the first time, then her eyes suddenly drooped beneath the look in his.

"Yes, I have thought it a little singular that you should choose just this work and this locality," she answered, in a low tone.

"May I tell you why I came?" seating himself at her side.

"Certainly, if you like."

"It was because I found here the only woman whom I could ever love. Virgie, you are that woman, and my heart told me on that first evening when I came to you, cold, wet, and hungry, that I must win your love or my future would be void and desolate. So I seized upon the first reasonable pretext I could find for remaining, and that, you know, your father offered me in disposing of his claim. Sometimes I have hoped that you were learning to love me in return; sometimes I have feared that I should not succeed in this, the dearest object of my life. My darling, I resolved to-night that I would put my fate to the test. Will you give yourself to me for all time, my beautiful mountain queen? Do you love me well enough, dear, to put your hand in mine and tell me that you will go with me wherever I will, as my loved and cherished wife?"

Virginia Abbot sat there, her perfect form outlined against the dark, moss-grown rock that arose, rugged and grand, behind her. The softened light, as it fell upon her through the boughs of the tree above her, made her seem like some exquisite picture painted by a master-hand. Her hands, white as Parian marble, were quietly folded in her lap, but her heart was in a tumult of joy, and her color came and went in fitful flushes.

She knew that she deeply loved this grand man, who had come to her mountain home in the early summer time, and she felt that earth could hold no higher happiness for her than to become his wife and go with him whithersoever he willed. But she knew, too, that her first duty lay with her father; that she must have no interests that would interfere with the care and attention which she owed to him in his failing condition.

"Virgie, you will not crush the sweet hope that has been taking root in my heart during these months that I have spent with you," Sir William pleaded, his face paling as she did not answer, and a fear smiting him that he might have been nourishing a delusion. "I have fancied that I have seen the love-light dawning in your eyes--oh, do not tell me that I have been deceiving myself. My darling, I will try to make your life very bright if you will give yourself to me."

Virgie looked up now with a steady, unwavering glance into his eager eyes, although her face was dyed with blushes.

"Mr. Heath," she faltered, "you know I cannot leave my father."

"Of course I know it," he returned, his face lighting "I do not ask it, darling; I only ask that you will give yourself into my keeping, and then we will devote ourselves to him as long as he lives. Oh, my dearest"--as he saw an answering gleam in her eyes--"you do love me!"

"Yes, I love you," Virgie breathed, with a downcast but happy face; and then she was gathered close to her lover's manly breast in a fond embrace.

"My love! my love! I would serve twice seven years, as Jacob did, in this wild region for the sake of winning that coveted confession from your dear lips. My mountain queen! and you will soon be my wife?"

But Virgie sat up suddenly at this and pushed him from her with gentle force, a frightened look in her eyes. Oh, "what have I done? I am afraid I have done wrong!" she cried.

"Wrong, dearest, in confessing that you love me!" Sir William whispered, as he tried to draw her again into his arms.

"But you do not know--I have no right to tell you; no--no, I am afraid I ought not to be your wife," she said, remembering, with a sense of shame and misery, the stigma resting upon her name.

The young man regarded her anxiously for a moment; then he understood it all.

"Virgie," he said, "you need not fear to promise all that I ask, for I know what troubles you. I asked your father's sanction to my suit before I came to you, and he told me all his sad story. But it need be no barrier to our happiness. I told him so, and he gave you to me--providing I could win you--with his blessing."

Virgie lifted her face, all radiant with a sweet new joy, a sense of exultation in her heart.

"And you were willing----" she began, wondering at the great love that could thus level what she had had feared would be an insurmountable barrier.

"Willing, love, to make myself the happiest man on earth," he interrupted, in a voice that actually trembled with joy. "What Mr. Abbot told me does not affect your worth or character, nor his either, and some time I believe the wrong will be made all right. Even were the facts more serious than they are, they need not trouble us, for I could take you far away from every breath of evil, and as my wife it could never touch you. So you will give yourself to me, Virgie?"

"Yes," she answered, with grave sweetness; "if papa thinks it is right, I cannot put my cup of happiness away untasted."

Sir William Heath bent and touched the beautiful girl's lips with his first lover's kiss.

"My beloved," he said, "life looks to me now like one long vista of happiness--may it prove so to both of us."

They sat there beneath the shadow of the great pine for more than an hour, wearing bright plans for the future, while the twilight gathered around them. But as yet Sir William had not told his bethrothed who he was, nor of the title awaiting her when she should become his wife. Somehow, he felt strangely reluctant to do so.

Once he had spoken of his home, and Virgie looked up with sudden interest, and asked:

"Where is your home, Mr. Heath?"

An amused smile played about his lips at her question

"My friends--that is those who love me---call me 'Will,' there," he said, significantly; "and surely, darling you need not treat me with so much formality. Do not call me Mr. Heath any more, Virgie."

"Please tell me where our home is to be--Will," she said, looking up at him with a shy smile, and blushing as the newly spoken name left her lips.

He bent and touched them fondly with his own.

"In England, love," he returned.

"England!"

"Yes. Shall you regret leaving your own country?"

"No; I think I shall be glad," Virgie answered, with a little sigh of content and relief.

Sir William looked gratified.

"Shall I describe our home to you?" he asked, thinking that perhaps now would be as good a time as any to tell more about himself and what her future position would be.

"Yes, do, please."

"Well, then, imagine a large, old mansion, with many turrets and gables, its time-worn stones grown with ivy and moss, and set in the midst of extensive grounds, with grand, beautiful trees scattered all about. There is a great hall in the center of the house, with spacious rooms on either hand. At the end of this hall is the library, with two large bay-windows overlooking a winding river, which is the pride and glory of the place, and where we sail, and bathe, and fish during the summer months. Over the library there is a lovely suite of rooms, commanding a wide expanse of meadow and upland--a scene that is like a picture all the time--which will henceforth be devoted to the use of the future lady--of Heathdale."

"Heathdale! What a pretty name!" Virgie cried, but still unsuspicious of the title which would become hers when she should go with him as his wife to England although he had almost given utterance to it, then hesitated, and substituted those last two words.

"Yes, it is a pretty name, and, Virgie, the place is the pride of my heart. At some distance from the mansion there are the stables and kennels, where the horses and dogs abide."

"Why, Mr.----Why, Will, what an extensive establishment! You must have----"

Virgie began in a tone of surprise, then stopped in confusion.

"Well, I must have what?" he asked.

"A great deal of money to support such a place," she replied, flushing.

"And is there anything very alarming about that?" he questioned, with a quiet smile.

"No; but--I thought----"

"You thought that I could not have very much of this world's goods since I had come here to work a mine," Sir William said, completing her sentence. "But, darling, all that was only a ruse; I have been working more for my wife than for gold."

"Will!"

"Darling, it is true; that was my only reason for becoming the purchaser of your father's interest here. I saw you; I loved you; I must have some good excuse for tarrying near you to try to win you, and now that I have attained my object, the mine will have to be disposed of, as I have no further use for it."

Virgie regarded him with astonishment. She had never suspected anything like this.

"How strange," she said, with a beautiful flush. "I have thought it almost unaccountable that a man like you should come here to remain. I have imagined that you were an author or a student, and might be investigating the formation of the mountains or studying character in order to write a book, but I never dreamed of anything like this."

Sir William laughed heartily.

"You were making me out to be quite a lofty character truly," he said; "and now you find your hero only a very human being after all--one who, for the sake of a beautiful woman, has been almost willing to barter his birthright. Have I fallen very low in your estimation, Virgie, because I am not to become a distinguished public benefactor on account of my research and investigation? Has my confession shocked you very much?"

"Your confession has made me a very, very happy woman." Virgie whispered, slipping her hand confidingly into his, her heart thrilling with a tender pride and love that this grand man should have sacrificed so much to win her.

"And I am exceedingly proud of this happy woman," returned Sir William, fondly. "I shall take the loveliest bride in the world back with me when we go home to Heathdale."

"Where you will be Lady Heath my Virgie. Ah, I am very thankful that my child will occupy so proud a position in life," said the voice of Mr. Abbot, just behind them.

He had come out to seek them, and had approached just as Sir William uttered those last words.

"Lady Heath!" exclaimed Virgie, starting up and turning a very astonished face first upon one and then the other. "What do you mean? I do not understand."

"Haven't you told her?" Mr. Abbot asked of the young man.

Sir William shook his head, with a smile.

"Told me what, papa?"

"That our friend here is Sir William Heath, of Heathdale, and an English baronet."

Virgie stood in wondering silence for a moment, her face flushed and drooping, while a hundred thoughts flashed through her mind.

Her lover a titled peer of England! This noble man, who might have chosen his wife from the nobility of his own country, had concealed his identity, had buried himself in the wilds of Nevada, and lived like a common miner simply to win her, an humble mountain maiden. He who belonged to an honored race, and possessed both title and wealth, had overlooked the fact that a heavy cloud enshrouded her own and her father's name, and was willing to lift her to the proud position of his wife and the mistress of his beautiful home. These and many other thoughts held her speechless, and made her tremble with something of fear that in the future he might regret it all, and wish that he had never seen her.

"I am afraid I am not fitted--" she at length faltered.

"In point of education, Virgie, you are fitted for the proudest position that could be offered you," her father returned, with some spirit. "All that you need is a trifle more worldly polish, which you will readily gain as Sir William takes you into society, and I am proud to give you to him. God bless you both, my children."

His voice broke.

He would have been glad to go with her to the scenes of her new life, to watch her develop in a higher atmosphere and see her happiness in her proud position. But he knew it could not be; and overcome, for the moment, with the thought of the separation which must soon come, he turned abruptly away and went feebly back to the cottage.