sions,
the great characteristic of Elisabeth was serenity, consideration and
charity.

With all this, there appeared sometimes at the surface of Elisabeth's
nature that fire and lightness and impulsiveness which she got from her
father, Mr. Daniel Churchill. Whether she was wholly reserved and
reasonable, or wholly warm and impulsive, I, long as I had known and
loved her, never was quite sure. Something held me away, something
called me forward; so that I was always baffled, and yet always eager,
God wot. I suppose this is the way of women. At times I have been
impatient with it, knowing my own mind well enough.

At least now, in my tight-strapped trousers and my long blue coat and my
deep embroidered waistcoat and my high stock, my shining boots and my
tall beaver, I made my way on my well-groomed horse up to the gates of
old Elmhurst; and as I rode I pondered and I dreamed.

But Miss Elisabeth was not at home, it seemed. Her father, Mr. Daniel
Churchill, rather portly and now just a trifle red of face, met me
instead. It was not an encounter for which I devoutly wished, but one
which I knew it was the right of both of us to expect ere long. Seeing
the occasion propitious, I plunged at once _in medias res_. Part of the
time explanatory, again apologetic, and yet again, I trust, assertive,
although always blundering and red and awkward, I told the father of my
intended of my own wishes, my prospects and my plans.

He listened to me gravely and, it seemed to me, with none of that
enthusiasm which I would have welcomed. As to my family, he knew enough.
As to my prospects, he questioned me. My record was not unfamiliar to
him. So, gaining confidence at last under the insistence of what I knew
were worthy motives, and which certainly were irresistible of
themselves, so far as I was concerned, I asked him if we might not soon
make an end of this, and, taking chances as they were, allow my wedding
with Elisabeth to take place at no very distant date.

"Why, as to that, of course I do not know what my girl will say," went
on Mr. Daniel Churchill, pursing up his lips. He looked not wholly
lovable to me, as he sat in his big chair. I wondered that he should be
father of so fair a human being as Elisabeth.

"Oh, of course--that," I answered; "Miss Elisabeth and I--"

"The skeesicks!" he exclaimed. "I thought she told me everything."

"I think Miss Elisabeth tells no one quite everything," I ventured. "I
confess she has k