r mind
before the ten years expired."

Six years of the allotted period had expired. Algernon had been promoted
to the rank of major; and his letters were full of happy anticipations.
Elinor herself began to look forward to their union as a thing likely to
take place; and she spoke of her lover's perseverance and constancy with
proud delight.

"He has done better than I expected of him," said the Squire. "There is
nothing like adversity for trying what a man's made of. But who can
wonder at his exerting himself to obtain such a reward?" And he bowed to
the blushing Elinor, as she sat with Algernon's letter in her hand,
radiant with joy.

"He talks of returning in less than two years: I wish it were now. I am
already three-and-twenty; by that time I shall begin to look old."

Mark thought that she never looked younger, or more beautiful, than at
that moment, and he told her so.

"Ah, but you are my friend--are partial. Will not Algernon see a
change?"

"Yes--for the better."

"I wish I could believe you. But I feel older. My heart is not so fresh
as it was; I no longer live in a dream; I see things as they really
are."

"And do you expect to find no change in your lover? The burning climate
of India is not a great beautifier."

"I can only see him as he was. If his heart remains unchanged, no
alteration in his personal appearance could shake my regard,
particularly when those changes have been incurred for my sake."

"Oh, woman, great is your faith!" said Mark, with a sigh. "Gladly would
I give my fortune to be Algernon."

Elinor started, and looked anxiously at her companion. It was the first
time he had ever alluded to his secret passion. Did he love her? The
question made Elinor tremble. She folded her letter, and turned the
conversation into another channel. But the words haunted her, "I would
give my fortune to be Algernon." Could he be in earnest? Perhaps it was
only a passing compliment--men were fond of paying such. But the Squire
was no flatterer; he seldom said what he did not mean. She re-read
Algernon's letter, and thought no more about the words that his brother
had let fall.

That letter was the last she ever received from her lover. After
enduring the most torturing suspense for eighteen months, and writing
frequently to demand the cause of his unnatural silence, Elinor gave
herself up to the most gloomy forebodings. Mr. Hurdlestone endeavored to
soothe her fears, and win her to the belief