self
were an old maid. But perhaps that was the very reason.

"I was doing you no harm, Nathanael," said she, smiling. "And I was
thinking, like you, how soon a fortnight will be gone, and how hard it
is for you to part from this little girl that loves you."

The inference, so natural, so holy, which Miss Valery had unconsciously
drawn, Agatha had not the heart to deny. She knew it was but right that
she should love, and be supposed to love, her betrothed husband. And
looking at him, his suffering, his strong self-denial, she almost felt
that she did really love him, as a wife ought.

"If," said the soft voice of the good angel--"if you had not known
each other so short a time, and been so newly betrothed, I should have
said--judging such things by what they were when I was young,"--here she
momentarily paused--"I should have said, Nathanael, that there was
only one course which, as regarded both her and yourself, was wisest,
kindest, best."

"What is that?" cried he, eagerly.

"To do a little sooner what must necessarily have been done soon--to
take one another's hands--thus."

Agatha felt strong, wild fingers grasping her own; a dizziness came
over her--she shrank back, crying, "No, no!" and hid her face on Miss
Valery's shoulder. Nathanael rose up and walked away.

When he returned, it was with his "good" aspect, tender and calm.

"No, Anne, I was wrong even to think of such a thing. Assure her I will
never urge it. She is quite right in saying 'No'--What man could expect
such a sacrifice?"

"And what woman would deem it such?" whispered Miss Valery. "But I
know I am a very foolish, romantic old maid, and view these things in
a different light to most people. So, my dear, be quite at rest," she
continued, soothing the young creature, who still clung to her. "No one
will urge you in any way; _he_ will not, he is too generous; and I had
no right even to say what I did, except from my affection for him."

She looked fondly at the young man, as if he had been still a little
child, and she saw him in the light of ancient days. These impelled her
to speak on earnestly.

"Another reason I had; because I am old, and you two are young. Often,
it seems as if the whole world--fate, trial, circumstance--were set
against all lovers to make them part. It is a bitter thing when they
part of their own free will. Accidents of all kinds--change, sorrow,
even death--may come between, and they may never meet again. Agatha,