smiled. "To see that you and the carriage
do not get fixed in a rut."

Barbara withdrew to her corner of the chariot, and cried silently. Very,
very deeply did she mourn the unhappy situation--the privations of her
brother; and she knew that he was one to feel them deeply. He could not
battle with the world's hardships so bravely as many could. Mr. Carlyle
only detected her emotion as they were nearing the Grove. He leaned
forward, took her hand, and held it between his.

"Don't grieve, Barbara. Bright days may be in store for us yet."

The carriage stopped.

"You may go back," he said to the servants, when he alighted. "I shall
walk home."

"Oh," exclaimed Barbara, "I do think you intend to spend the evening
with us? Mamma will be so pleased."

Her voice sounded as if she was also. Mr. Carlyle drew her hand within
his arm as they walked up the path.

But Barbara had reckoned without her host. Mrs. Hare was in bed,
consequently could not be pleased at the visit of Mr. Carlyle. The
justice had gone out, and she, feeling tired and not well, thought she
would retire to rest. Barbara stole into her room, but found her asleep,
so that it fell to Barbara to entertain Mr. Carlyle.

They stood together before the large pierglass, in front of the blazing
fire. Barbara was thinking over the events of the day. What Mr. Carlyle
was thinking of was best known to himself; his eyes, covered with their
drooping eyelids, were cast upon Barbara. There was a long silence, at
length Barbara seemed to feel that his gaze was upon her, and she looked
up at him.

"Will you marry me, Barbara?"

The words were spoken in the quietest, most matter-of-fact tone, just as
if he had said, "Shall I give you a chair, Barbara?" But, oh! The change
that passed over her countenance! The sudden light of joy! The scarlet
flush of emotion and happiness. Then it all faded down to paleness and
sadness.

She shook her head in the negative. "But you are very kind to ask me,"
she added in words.

"What is the impediment, Barbara?"

Another rush of color as before and a deep silence. Mr. Carlyle stole
his arm around her and bent his face on a level with hers.

"Whisper it to me, Barbara."

She burst into a flood of tears.

"Is it because I once married another?"

"No, no. It is the remembrance of that night--you cannot have forgotten
it, and it is stamped on my brain in letters of fire. I never thought
so to betray myself. But for what passe