r to her; but had
her new brother, in his brotherly confidence, told her that his
heart was devoted to some other woman, she would have suffered a
blow, though she would never have confessed even to herself that
she suffered. On that evening, when she reached home, she said very
little.

She was so tired. Might she go to bed? "What, at nine o'clock?" asked
Aunt Sarah.

"I'll stay up, if you wish it," said Mary.

But before ten she was alone in her own chamber, sitting in her own
chair, with her arms folded, feeling, rather than thinking, how
divine a thing it was to be in love. What could she not do for him?
What would she not endure to have the privilege of living with him?
What other good fortune in life could be equal to this good fortune?
Then she thought of her relations with Mr. Gilmore, and shuddered
as she remembered how near she had been to accepting him. "It would
have been so wrong. And yet I did not see it! With him I am sure that
it is right, for I feel that in going to him I can be every bit his
own."

So she thought, and so she dreamed; and then the morning came, and
she had to go down to her aunt. She ate her breakfast almost in
silence, having resolved that she would tell her story the moment
breakfast was over. She had, over night, and while she was in bed,
studiously endeavoured not to con any mode of telling it. Up to
the moment at which she rose her happiness was, if possible, to be
untroubled. But while she dressed herself, she endeavoured to arrange
her plans. She at last came to the conclusion that she could do it
best without any plan.

As soon as Aunt Sarah had finished her breakfast, and just as she
was about to proceed, according to her morning custom, down-stairs
to the kitchen, Mary spoke. "Aunt Sarah, I have something to tell
you. I may as well bring it out at once. I am engaged to marry Walter
Marrable." Aunt Sarah immediately let fall the sugar-tongs, and stood
speechless. "Dear aunt, do not look as if you were displeased. Say a
kind word to me. I am sure you do not think that I have intended to
deceive you."

"No; I do not think that," said Aunt Sarah.

"And is that all?"

"I am very much surprised. It was yesterday that you told me, when
I hinted at this, that he was no more to you than a cousin,--or a
brother."

"And so I thought; indeed I did. But when he told me how it was with
him, I knew at once that I had only one answer to give. No other
answer was possible. I lov