, for a woman to marry.

Agatha, never having known this feeling, could scarcely be said to have
sacrificed it; at least not consciously. But even while she believed she
was doing right in accepting the man who loved her, and whom she could
make so happy, she trembled.

Major Harper sat looking out of the window in an uncomfortable silence,
which he evidently knew not how to break. It was a very awkward and
somewhat ridiculous position for all three.

Nathanael was the first to rise out of it. Slowly his features settled
into composure, and his strong, earnest purpose gave him both dignity
and calmness, even though all hope had evidently died. He looked
steadily at his brother, avoiding Agatha.

"Frederick, I think I understand now. She has been telling you all."

"It was right she should. Her father left her in my care. She wishes you
to learn her decision in my presence," said Major Harper, unwittingly
taking a new and even respectful tone to the younger brother, whom he
was wont to call "that boy."

Nathanael grasped with his slight, long fingers, the chair by which he
stood. "As she pleases. I am quite ready. Still--if--yesterday--without
telling you or any one--she had said to me--But I am quite ready to hear
what she decides."

Despite his firmness, the words were uttered slowly and with a great
struggle.

"Tell him everything, Miss Bowen; it will come better from yourself,"
said Frederick Harper, rising.

Agatha rose likewise, walked across the room, and laid her hand in that
of him who loved her. The only words she said were so low that he alone
could hear them:

"I have been very desolate--be kind to me!"

Nathanael made no answer; indeed for the moment his look was that of a
man bewildered--but he never forgot those words.

Agatha felt her hand clasped--softly--but with a firm grasp that seemed
to bind it to his for ever. This was the only sign of betrothal that
passed between them. In another minute or two, unable to bear the scene
longer, she crept out of the room and walked up-stairs, feeling with
a dizzy sense, half of comfort, half of fear--yet, on the whole, the
comfort stronger than the fear--that the struggle was all over, and her
fate sealed for life.

When she descended, an hour after, the Harpers had gone; but she found a
little note awaiting her, just one line:

"If not forbidden, I may come this evening."

Agatha knew she had no right to forbid, even had she wished it, now. So