eet during life, I pray that I may be forgiven--for I sinned not
wilfully--that the lesson may be sanctified unto me, and that I may
live as the Lord order, in Christian patience and meekness, and not
repining." It never occurred to young Evelina that possibly Thomas
Merriam's sense of duty might be strengthened by the loss of all her
cousin's property should she marry him, and neither did she dream
that he might hesitate to take her from affluence into poverty for
her own sake. For herself the property, as put in the balance beside
her love, was lighter than air itself. It was so light that it had no
place in her consciousness. She simply had thought, upon hearing the
will, of Martha Loomis and her daughters in possession of the
property, and herself with Thomas, with perfect acquiescence and
rapture.

Evelina Adams's disapprobation of her marriage, which was supposedly
expressed in the will, had indeed, without reference to the property,
somewhat troubled her tender heart, but she told herself that Cousin
Evelina had not known she had promised to marry Thomas; that she
would not wish her to break her solemn promise. And furthermore, it
seemed to her quite reasonable that the condition had been inserted
in the will mainly through concern for the beloved garden.

"Cousin Evelina might have thought perhaps I would let the flowers
die when I had a husband and children to take care of," said Evelina.
And so she had disposed of all the considerations which had disturbed
her, and had thought of no others.

She did not answer Thomas's letter. It was so worded that it seemed
to require no reply, and she felt that he must be sure of her
acquiescence in whatever he thought best. She laid the letter away in
a little rosewood box, in which she had always kept her dearest
treasures since her school-days. Sometimes she took it out and read
it, and it seemed to her that the pain in her heart would put an end
to her in spite of all her prayers for Christian fortitude; and yet
she could not help reading it again.

It was seldom that she stole a look at her old lover as he stood in
the pulpit in the meeting-house, but when she did she thought with an
anxious pang that he looked worn and ill, and that night she prayed
that the Lord would restore his health to him for the sake of his
people.

It was four months after Evelina Adams's death, and her garden was in
the full glory of midsummer, when one evening, towards dusk, young
Eve