next morning she waited at home, and for the first time received
her betrothed openly as such. She was sitting alone in her little
drawing-room engaged at her work; but put it down when Mr. Harper
entered, and held out her hand kindly, though with a slight restraint
and confusion. Both were needless: he only touched this lately-won
hand with his soft boyish lips--like a _preux chevalier_ of the olden
time--and sat down by her side. However deep his love might be, its
reserve was unquestionable.

After a while he began to talk to her--timidly yet tenderly, as friend
with friend--watching her fingers while they moved, until at length the
girl grew calmed by the calmness of her young lover. So much so, that
she even forgot he was a young man and her lover, and found herself
often steadfastly looking up into his face, which was gradually melting
into a known likeness, as many faces do when we grow familiar with them.
Agatha puzzled herself much as to who it could be that Mr. Harper was
like--though she found no nearer resemblance than a head she had once
seen of the angel Gabriel.

She told him this--quite innocently, and then, recollecting herself,
coloured deeply. But Nathanael looked perfectly happy.

"The likeness is very flattering," said he, smiling. "Yet I would only
wish to be--what you called me once, the first evening I saw you. Do you
remember?"

"No."

"Ah--well--it was not probable you should," he answered, as if
patiently taking upon himself the knowledge which only a strong love can
bear--that it is _alone_ in its strength. "It was merely when they were
talking of my name, and you said I looked like a Nathanael. Now, do you
remember?"

"Yes, and I think so still," she replied, without any false shame. "I
never look at you, but I feel there is 'no guile' in you, Mr. Harper."

"Thanks," he said, with much feeling. "Thanks--except for the last word.
How soon will you try to say 'Nathanael?'"

A fit of wilfulness or shyness was upon Agatha. She drew away her hand
which he had taken. "How soon? Nay, I cannot tell. It is a long name,
old-fashioned, and rather ugly."

He made no answer--scarcely even showed that he was hurt; but he never
again asked her to call him "Nathanael."

She went on with her work, and he sat quietly looking at her for some
little time more. Any Asmodeus peering at them through the roof would
have vowed these were the oddest pair of lovers ever seen.

At last, rousing himself, M