burned from the parlour window, which was
open.  The full moon shone fairly in a sky
without a cloud. I unfastened the gate and
went in; and there in the open door sat Alice,
with a light shawl thrown over her shoulders,
her head resting on the shaggy coat of the
Newfoundland dog.  His beautiful brown eyes
watched me as I came up the path, but he did
not stir.

  I sat down near her; but on the lower step,
so that I could look up in her face.

  "Alice, you do not look well."

  " But I am.  Quite well.  I am going away
to-morrow."

  "Going away! Where?"

  " Home. To London.  Well?  What ails
you, cousin Frank? Did you never hear of
any one who went to London before!"

  "Yes: but why do you go?"

  " Why? " She opened her eyes and looked
at me.  " For many reasons.  Firstly, I only
came for six weeks, and I have stayed nearly
three months; secondly, because I have
business which can be put off no longer;
and thirdly, because my friends are wondering
what on earth keeps me here so long
(they will say soon, it is you, Frank).
They vow they cannot do without me any
longer, and it is pleasant to be missed, you
know."

  " And so you are going back to the old life,
Alice? And by-and-by I suppose you will
marry?"

  I would not advise any man, be he old or
young, in case he does not think it wise or
prudent to marry the woman he loves, to
linger with her in the doorway of a silent
farmhouse, and hold her hand, and look out
upon a moonlight night.  That touch of the
small slight fingers was playing the mischief
with my good resolutions, and my wisdom
(if I had any).

  " Alice, " I said softly; and I almost
started, as she did, at the sound of my own
voice, it was so changed.  " Alice, we have
been very happy here."

  "Very."

  I took both her hands, and held them close
in mine.  But she would not look at me,
though her face turned that way.

  " There is a great difference between us,
dear Alice.  I am much older than you, and
much graver.  I have never loved any
woman but you in my life, while you have
charmed a thousand hearts, and had a
thousand fancies.  If you were what the
world thinks you, and what you try to make
yourself out to be, I should say no more than
this—I love you.  But I know you have
a heart.  I know you can love, if you will;
and can be true, if you will.  And so I beseech
you to talk to me honestly, and tell me
if you can love me, or if you do.  I am not
used to asking such questions of ladies, Alice,
and I may seem rough and rude; but believe
me, when I say you have won my whole
heart, and I cannot be happy without you."

  "Yes, I believe you," she said.

  " But do you trust me, and do you love
me?"

  She might trifle with a trifler, but she
was earnest enough with me.

  " I trust you, and I love you," she answered,
frankly.  " Are you wondering why
I can stand before you, and speak so calmly?
Because, I do not think I shall ever marry
you.  You do not love me, as I have
always said my husband should love me.  I
am wayward and exacting, and I should
weary your life out by my constant craving
for tenderness.  I was made to be petted,
Frank; and you, though a loving, are not an
affectionate man.  You would wish me at
the bottom of the Red Sea before we had
been married a month; and, because you
could not get me there, you would go to work
and break my heart, by way of amusement.
I know it as well as if I had seen it all—even
  now."

  She looked at me, and all her woman's
heart and nature were in her eyes.  They
spoke love and passion, and deep, deep tenderness
—and all for me. Something leaped
into life in my heart at that moment which I
had never felt before—something that made
my affection of the last few hours seem cold
and dead beside its fervid glow.  I had her
in my arms within the instant—close—close
to my heart.

   "Alice! if ever man loved woman with
heart and soul—madly and unreasonably
if you will, but still truly and honestly—I
love you, my darling."

  " But will it last? O, Frank, will it
last?"

  I bent down, and our lips met in a long,
fond kiss.

  "You will be my wife, Alice?"

  She leaned her pretty head against my
arm, and her hand stole into mine again.

  " Do you mean that for your answer? Am
I to keep the hand, dear Alice, and call it
mine?"

  "If you will, Francis."

  It was the first time she had ever given
me that name.  But she never called me by
any other again until she ceased to love
me; and it sounds sweetly in my memory
now, and it will sound sweetly to my dying
day.

CHAPTER THE THIRD.

  WE were married not long after, and for
six months we dwelt in a " Fool's Paradise."
When I think, that but for me, it might have
lasted to our dying day, I can only sigh, and
take up the burden of my life with an aching
heart.

  They had called Alice fickle—oh, how
wrongly!  No human being could be truer
to another than she was to me.

  " I only wanted to find my master,
Francis," she used to say, when I laughed at
her about it.  " I was looking for him through