r woe, he could not go back and leave them unsaid. He had planned to
say about what he had to Uncle Terry, beginning with a brief history of
his life, his income, his hopes, and ending with asking her to share
them. But the fortress of a woman's heart is seldom assailed that way,
and with the queen of his, alone there beside him in that peaceful
nook, where only the tiniest pulse of the ocean rippled on the rocks, he
quite forgot his address to this fair judge and jury. "Telly," he said,
"I promised to tell you a little story here to-day, but it's all said in
a few words. I love you, and I want you to share my life and all that I
can do to make you happy." A trifle incoherent, but expressive; and the
answer?

For a moment, while the tide of feeling surged through that queen's
heart, and into her cheeks, even to the tips of her ears, she was
silent, and then as both her hands went to her face, she almost
whispered, "Oh, no, no, I cannot! I can never leave father and mother
alone here! It would break my heart!"

"But you do care a little for me, don't you, Telly?" he begged, trying
to draw her hands away from her blushing face. "Just a little, Telly,
only say a little, to give me hope."

And then, as one of the hands he was trying to gain was yielded, and as
he softly stroked and then raised it to his lips, she turned her
pleading eyes to him and said, "You won't be angry, will you? And you
will come and see me once in a while, won't you? And let me paint a
picture to give you when you come?"

It may have been the pain in his face added to her own desolation that
overcame all else, for now she bowed her head and the tears came. "I
thank you for so much, Telly," he answered tenderly, "and God bless you
for it. I do not give you up and shall not, if I have to wait all my
life for you. I can be patient if I only have hope." He brushed his face
with one hand, and still holding hers, arose and drew her up. Then the
bold wooer slyly put his arm around her waist, and as he drew her to him
he whispered, "Just one, Telly, my sweetheart, to make this spot seem
more sacred."

It was not refused.

It is no harm for a man to be refused; instead it is a beneficial tonic,
and inevitably makes him realize how serious a step he is asking some
good woman to take and how much it means to her. In Albert's case it was
tempered by so many consolations, one at least of exquisite sweetness,
that he did not really feel it a final refusal.