cruel plan might be
put in execution to separate them once more. He would not take the
risk; he would bind her to him so securely that no device, however
cunning,--no plan, however hard and shrewd,--could again divide them.

She hesitated long; was long entreated; but the result was sure, since
her own heart seconded every prayer he uttered. At last she consented;
but insisted that he should go home at once, see the mother and father
who were waiting for him with such anxious hearts, give to them--as was
their due--at least a part of the time, and then, when her hasty
bride-preparations were made, come back and take her wholly to himself.
Thus it was arranged, and he left her.

Into the mysteries which followed--the mysteries of hemming and
stitching, of tucking and trimming, ruffling, embroidering, of all the
hurry and delicious confusion of an elegant yet hasty bridal
trousseau--let us not attempt to investigate.

Doubtless through those days, through this sweet and happy whirl of
emotion, Francesca had many anxious and painful hours: hours in which
she looked at the future--for him more than for herself--with sorrowful
anticipations and forebodings. But with each evening came a letter,
written in the morning by his dear hand; a letter so full of happy,
hopeful love, of resolute, manly spirit, that her cares and anxieties
all took flight, and were but as a tale that is told, or as a dream of
darkness when the sun shines upon a blessed reality.

He wrote her that he had told his parents of his wishes and plans; and
that, as he had known before, they were opposed, and opposed most
bitterly; but he was sure that time would soften, and knowledge destroy
this prejudice utterly. He wrote as he believed. They were so fond of
him, so devoted to him who was their only child, that he was assured
they would not and could not cast him off, nor hate that which he loved.
He did not know that his father, who had never before been guilty of a
base action,--his mother, who was fine to daintiness,--were both so
warped by this senseless and cruel feeling--having seen Francesca and
known all her beautiful and noble elements of personal character--as to
have written her a letter which only a losel should have penned and an
outcast read. She did not tell him. Being satisfied that they two
belonged to one another; that if they were separated it would be as the
tearing asunder of a perfect whole, leaving the parts rent and
bleeding,--she