mber, that,
whatever may happen, I am always the same that I have been to you."

Here his voice failed him. With such a crowd of memories,--of hopes and
desires yet unsatisfied,--with the crushing burden of debt and poverty,--
he could not command himself to say what his heart, nevertheless, ached in
retaining. Here he was, with the opportunity for which during all his
boyhood he had scarcely dared to hope, and yet he was dumb. They were at
the gate, under the dense shade of the maples.

"Good-night, dear Mildred!" said Mark.

He took her hand, which was fluttering as by electrical influence, and
raised it tenderly to his lips.

"Good-night," he said again.

She did not speak, but grasped his hand with fervor. He walked away slowly
towards his uncle's house, but often stopped and looked back at the
slender figure whose outlines he could barely see in the gateway under the
trees. Then, as he lost sight of her, he remembered with shame the selfish
prominence he had given to his own troubles. He was ashamed, too, of the
cowardice which had kept him from uttering the words which had trembled on
his lips. But in a moment the thought of the future checked that regret.
Gloomy as his own lot might be, he could bear it; but he had no right to
involve another's happiness. Thus he alternated between pride and
abasement, hope and dejection, as many a lover has done before and since.

CHAPTER VI.

Sunday was a great day in Innisfield; for there, as in all Puritan
communities, religion was the central and engrossing idea. As the bell
rang for service, every ear in town heard it, and all who were not sick or
kept at home by the care of young children turned their steps towards the
house of God. The idea that there could be any choice between going to
hear preaching and remaining at home was so preposterous, that it never
entered into the minds of any but the openly wicked. Whatever might be
their inclinations, few had the hardihood to absent themselves from
meeting, still less to ride out for pleasure, or to stroll through the
woods or upon the bank of the river. A steady succession of vehicles--
"thorough-braced" wagons, a few more stylish carriages with elliptic
springs, and here and there an ancient chaise--tended from all quarters to
the meeting-house. The horses, from the veteran of twenty years' service
down to the untrimmed and half-trained colt, knew what the proprieties of
the day required. They trotted soberly, with