inish the sentence.

"Eliza, you are dearer to me than any one upon earth." She made no
efforts to resist the pressure of his arm. There were moments of
eloquent silence.

"Eliza, will you become my wife?"

"Do you know how utterly destitute I am?"

"That has no connection with my question."

"If you are the same George Mason you used to be, you wish for a
direct answer. I will." It was not till this word was spoken that he
ventured to impress a kiss upon her cheek.

"I have not done right," said Eliza; "you can never know how much I
owe to that dear aunt. I ought not to engage myself without her
consent--I can never be separated from her."

"You cannot suppose that I would wish you to be separated."

"You are the same--" she was about to add some epithets of praise, but
checked herself. "How is it that you have remained unchanged?"

"By keeping bright an image in my heart of hearts."

With some difficulty Eliza rose, and opening the door, spoke to her
aunt. She came and stood in the door.

"Well, ma'am," said Mason, "I have gained Eliza's consent to change
her name, if you will give your consent." She stood as one bewildered.
The cloud which rested on her countenance was painful to behold. It
was necessary to repeat his remark before she could apprehend it.

"Ah, is it so? It has come at last. He doeth all things well. I hadn't
faith to trust Him. He doeth all things well."

"We have your consent?"

"If she is half as loving to you as she has been to me, you will never
be sorry. But what will become of me?"

"We have no idea of parting with you. She has given her consent only
on condition that you go with us." The old lady fixed her gaze upon
her niece. It was strange that features so plain, so wrinkled by age
and sorrow, could beam with such affection. She could find no words to
express her feelings. She closed the door, and was heard sobbing like
a child.

Hour after hour stole away unnoted by the lovers. They were summoned
to partake of the frugal meal spread by Aunt Mary's hands, and no
apologies were made for its lack of store. Again they retired to the
little parlor, and it was not till the sun was low in the west, that
he set out on his return to the "white house."

"We conclude that you have passed a happy day," said Mrs. Earl, "at
least your countenance says so. We began to feel anxious about you."

"I went to the brook first, and then to the village."

"Have you seen many of your old f