I have but to leave her for two months, and she at once breaks her promises and forgets the past, while I," said Will, with growing indignation and self-pity, "have found all my studies blurred by thine image, and the memory of thee woven with all my thoughts.

Oh, Morva! had I known when we were boy and girl together that thou couldst be so false, I would never have treasured thee in my heart, but would have turned and fled as Gethin did, instead of clinging to thee, and for thy sake stopping in the dull old home when the world was all before me.
And now to come home and find that thou art tired of me--art cold to me, and hast forgotten me! 'Tis a hard fate, indeed!" "Oh, Will, no, no!" sobbed the girl, "'tis not so; indeed.

God knows I love thee still as much as ever I did.

'Tis only that I have grown older, and wiser, and sadder perhaps, because it seems that knowing much brings sorrow with it.

I was so young when I made all those promises." "Two months younger than thou art now!" scoffed Will.
"Two months is a long time," she said, "when you begin to think, and I have thought and thought out here at night when the stars are glittering overhead, when the sea is sighing so sad down below, and after all my thinking only one thing is plain to me, Will; let there be no promises between us." "Never!" said Will, a vindictive feeling rising within him, "never will I set thee free to marry another man, whoever he is!" "He is no one," interpolated Morva, in a low voice.
"Whoever he is," repeated Will, as though he had not heard her, "I will never set thee free, never--never, never!" All the dogged obstinacy of his nature was roused, and the feeling that he was a wronged and injured man gave his voice a tone of indignant passion which told upon the girl's sensitive nature.
"Oh, Will," she said, stretching out her hand towards him, "I did not think thou loved me like that! I cannot be cruel to thee; thou art a Garthowen, and for them I have often said I would lay down my life.