winsomest being in the world, and
frankly told her so. Instantly she brightened into her very gayest self.
Not that I thought then, much less do I think now, she partially
cared for my good opinion; but her nature demanded admiration, and
unconsciously blossomed under it, as a flower under the sunshine.

"And you will still let me come and tell you how bad I am,--that is, if
I go on being bad, as I doubtless shall to the end of the chapter? You
will not turn me off?"

"I will never turn you off."

"Not if I should do a dreadful thing? Not if I should run away with my
lover some fine night, and leave uncle to discover how his affectionate
partiality had been requited?"

It was lightly said, and lightly meant, for she did not even wait for my
reply. But its seed sank deep into our two hearts for all that. And for
the next few days I spent my time in planning how I should manage, if
it should ever fall to my lot to conduct to a successful issue so
enthralling a piece of business as an elopement. You may imagine, then,
how delighted I was, when one evening Hannah, this unhappy girl who
is now lying dead under my roof, and who was occupying the position of
lady's maid to Miss Mary Leavenworth at that time, came to my door with
a note from her mistress, running thus:

"Have the loveliest story of the season ready for me tomorrow; and
let the prince be as handsome as--as some one you have heard of,
and the princess as foolish as your little yielding pet,

"MARY."

Which short note could only mean that she was engaged. But the next day
did not bring me my Mary, nor the next, nor the next; and beyond hearing
that Mr. Leavenworth had returned from his trip I received neither word
nor token. Two more days dragged by, when, just as twilight set in, she
came. It had been a week since I had seen her, but it might have been
a year from the change I observed in her countenance and expression. I
could scarcely greet her with any show of pleasure, she was so unlike
her former self.

"You are disappointed, are you not?" said she, looking at me. "You
expected revelations, whispered hopes, and all manner of sweet
confidences; and you see, instead, a cold, bitter woman, who for
the first time in your presence feels inclined to be reserved and
uncommunicative."

"That is because you have had more to trouble than encourage you in your
love," I returned, though not without a certain shrinking, caused more
by her man