papa, and all he said was, 'My daughter, he would make you an
excellent husband--such a one as your poor mother would wish for you
were she alive. I hope you'll consider the matter well before you say
No.'

"I thought it all over. Why not? Yes, I would write to the baron and say
Yes. Arthur was away; he'd never come back; he was in love with that
pretty blond. Was it likely I was going to ruin my life for him? I had
too much sense for that. I would just go and throw his old glove into
the fire and all thoughts of him to the winds. So I went for the glove,
and kissed it--foolish thing!--and put it back in my treasure-box, and
went on thinking of Arthur more than ever. Then I remonstrated with
myself for my foolishness, and took my writing-desk in my lap and sat
down in the conservatory to write to the baron. I began my letter 'My
dear Arthur,' and then had to begin again, and started fairly with 'My
dear baron.' Then I tried to frame a proper sentence to start with, but
that desolate little bird came flying to my shoulder, and chirped so
sadly and so persistently that it put me all out.

"'Oh, you poor foolish little thing!' I said: 'anybody would think there
were no other birds in the world but your faithless mate.'

"The bird fluttered and chirped and talked with a purring song, which I
fancied to say, 'Oh, my poor heart! poor heart! poor broken heart!
Alas!' and it was such a strong impression that I put my hand to my own
heart and held on there, while I laid my head on one side till it
touched the feathers of the bird on my shoulder; and so we sat silently
musing.

"What do you think roused us? There was a quick fluttering in the bird's
breast. She flew away from my shoulder: she flew to the top of the
highest azalea, and she sung--oh, how she sung! Joy, victory over doubt,
faith crowned, glimpses of heaven in the spring sunlight,--they were all
in that song. I knew in a minute what had come. I threw open the sash,
and out of the sunshine, borne in with the odors of the new grass and
budding trees, came a little brown bird, tired as from a long journey,
but with a song of greeting that overtopped even the song of welcome
that awaited him.

"I watched them a moment, as if in a spell, and then I tore up my letter
to the baron and tossed it among the flowers; and the tears came in my
eyes, and I said aloud, 'Oh, Arthur, I do love you--I know I do! If you
don't come back I shall die.'

"'Then, dear, you shall not