ries, and
yours was the prettiest dream I ever heard."

The reply to this sweet interpretation was after the manner of all
lovers since the world began. And so, forgetting the stern old folks at
home,--forgetting everything but each other,--they sat for an hour at
the very gate of heaven. How often Hobert called her his sweetheart, and
his rosebud, and other fond names, we need not stop to enumerate: how
often he said that for her sake he could brave the winter storm and the
summer heat, that she should never know rough work nor sad days, but
that she should be as tenderly protected, as daintily cared for, as any
lady of them all,--how often he said all these things, we need not
enumerate; nor need we say with what unquestioning trust, and deafness
to all the suggestions of probability, Jenny believed. Does not love, in
fact, always believe what it hopes? Who would do away with the blessed
insanity that clothes the marriage day with such enchantment? Who would
dare to do it?

No royal mantle could have been adjusted with tenderer and more reverent
solicitude than was that night the coarse cloak about the shoulders of
Jenny. The walk homeward was all too short; and whether the rain fell,
or whether the moon were at her best, perhaps neither of them could have
told until they were come within earshot of the Bowen homestead; then
both suddenly stood still. Was it the arm of Jenny that trembled so? No,
no! we must own the truth,--it was the arm through which hers was drawn.
At her chamber window, peering out curiously and anxiously, was the
yellow-white face of Mrs. Bowen; and, leaning over the gate, gazing up
and down the road, the rain falling on his bent shoulders and gray
head, was the father of Jenny,--angry and impatient, past doubt.

"Don't stand looking any longer, for mercy's sake!" called the querulous
voice from the house. "You'll get your death of cold, and then what'll
become of us all? Saddle your horse this minute, and ride over to John
Walker's,--for there's where you'll find Jinny, the gad-about,--and
bring her home at the tail of your critter. I'll see who is going to be
mistress here!"

"She's had her own head too long a'ready, I'm afeard," replied the old
man, turning from the gate, with intent, probably, to execute his wife's
order.

Seeing this, and hearing this, Hobert, as we said, stood still and
trembled, and could only ask, by a little pressure of the hand he held,
what was to be said or done