ly. She, too, had given up her pride
for love of Lucina.

Jerome, with a sudden motion of his shoulders, as if he flung off a
burden, left the window and crossed the room. He was very pale, but
his eyes were shining. He towered over Mrs. Merritt with his splendid
height, and she was woman enough, even then, to note how handsome he
was. "Will you give me Lucina for my wife?" said he.

Tears sprang to Abigail's eyes, her little face quivered. She took
Jerome's hand, pressed it, murmured something, and went out. Jerome
understood that she had gone to call Lucina.

It was not long before he heard Lucina's step on the stairs, and the
rustle of her skirts. Then there was a suspensive silence, as if she
hesitated at the door; then the latch was lifted and she came in.

Lucina, in a straight hanging gown of blue silk, stood still near the
door, looking at Jerome with a wonderful expression of love and
modest shrinking and trust and fear, and a gentle dignity and
graciousness withal, which only a maiden's face can compass. Lucina
did not blush nor tremble, though her steady poise seemed rather due
to the repression of tremors than actual calm of spirit. Though no
color came into Lucina's smooth, pale curves of cheek, and though her
little hands were clasped before her, like hands of marble, her blue
eyes were dilated, and pulses beat hard in her delicate throat and
temples.

Jerome, on his part, was for a minute unable to speak or approach
her. An awe of her, as of an angel, was over him, now that for the
first time the certainty of possession was in his heart. It often
happens that one receiving for the first time a great and
long-desired blessing, can feel, for the moment, not joy and triumph
so much as awe and fear at its sudden glory of fairness in contact
with his unworthiness.

But, all at once, as Jerome hesitated a soft red came flaming over
Lucina's face and neck, and tears of distress welled up in her eyes.
Far it was from her to understand how her lover felt, for awe of
herself was beyond her imagination, and a dreadful fear lest her
mother had been mistaken and Jerome did not want her after all, was
in her heart. She gave him a little look, at once proud and piteously
shamed, and put her hand on the door-latch; but with that Jerome was
at her side and his arms were around her.

"Oh, Lucina," he said, "I am poor--I am poorer than when I spoke to
you before. You must give all and I nothing, except myself, whic