makes you
call your friend by a ceremonious title. I blame you for your _pride_,
which has made you think of me harshly and unjustly. Unkind Fanny! What
reason have I ever given you to think me heartless or worldly? Do you
not know that those who love are equals? and that if it be a more
blessed thing to give, yet to a generous heart, for that very reason, it
ought to be a pleasure to receive? Are you too proud, Fanny, to take any
thing from us, or is it because my son's affection is displeasing to you
that you have rejected him?"

Fanny was now in tears, and even sobbing aloud. "Oh, forgive me," she
cried, "forgive me! I acknowledge my fault. I see that what I believed
to be a sense of duty was at least partly pride. Oh, Mrs. Beauchamp, you
would forgive me if you only knew how miserable I was making myself
too!"

"Were you--were you indeed making _yourself_ miserable?" cried Edmund.
"Oh say so again, dearest Fanny; and say you are happy now!"

Mrs. Beauchamp smiled fondly as she answered, "I will do more than
forgive you, my poor Fanny, if you will only love my son. Will you make
us both so happy?"

Fanny only replied by a rapid glance at Edmund, and by throwing herself
into the arms of Mrs. Beauchamp, which were extended to receive her. And
as she was pressed to that fond, maternal heart, she whispered audibly,
"My mother!--our mother!"

Mrs. Beauchamp then taking her hand, and placing it in that of her son,
said with evident emotion, "Only make Edmund happy, Fanny, and all the
gratitude between us will be due on my side; and oh, my children, as you
value your future peace, believe in each other through light and
darkness. And may Heaven bless you both!" She had turned towards the
house, when she looked back to ask, "Shall I countermand the carriage,
Fanny?" And Edmund added, half-tenderly, half-slyly, "Shall you go
to-morrow?"

Fanny's tears were scarcely dry, and her blushes were deeper than ever,
but she answered immediately, with her usual lively promptitude, "That
depends upon the sort of entertainment you may provide as an inducement
to prolong my visit."

And Edmund, finding that he had no chance with Fanny where repartee or
badinage was in question, had recourse again to the serious vein, and
rejoined, "If my power to induce you to prolong your visit were at all
equal to my will, you would remain for ever, my own dearest Fanny."

We must now pass over a few months. The early freshness and verdure of