e library, a group was gathered round the centre table, but to
Emmeline all was indistinct, not one amongst them could she recognise.
Her father hastened towards her, he took her trembling hand in his, and
led her gently forward.

"Look up, my beloved," he said, tenderly, "we have sent for you to
ratify the consent your mother and I have given, given on condition,
that if yours be withheld, ours also is void. But will the long years of
silent love and uncomplaining suffering for your sake, plead in vain to
one so gentle as yourself? Look up, my Emmeline, and tell me, if the
fond affection, the tender cares of him whom we have chosen, will not
indeed prove the best restorative we can bestow?"

She did look up, and the quick gushing flow of blood dyed her pallid
cheek with crimson, and lit up her soft eyes with their wonted lustre.
There was one tall, manly form beside her, gazing on her with such
devoted love, that she saw not how pale were those expressive features,
what a deep impress of long suffering was on that high and noble brow.
She heard naught but that deep rich voice pronounce her name, and call
her "his own, own Emmeline," for she had sunk in his extended arms, she
had hidden her face upon his shoulder and wept.

"Are we forgiven, Emmeline, dearest?" said Mrs. Hamilton, fondly, after
a long pause, which many mingled feelings had occasioned. Her child
withdrew for a moment from the arms of her betrothed, and flung herself
upon her neck. "Your father bound me by a promise not to reveal his
secret, and I kept it well till this evening; for did you not deserve
some punishment, my child, for believing even for a single moment your
parents would have rewarded your unwavering discharge of a most painful
duty, your unhesitating submission to our will, by forcing you to bestow
your hand upon another, when your heart was already engaged? No, my own
Emmeline, we could not have been so cruel. Take her, my dear Arthur;
freely, fearlessly I consign her happiness to your charge, for indeed
you have well deserved her."

We need not lift the veil from the brief interview which the
consideration of Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton afforded to the lovers, it is
enough that they were happy, happy in the consciousness not of present
joy alone, but of duty unshrinkingly performed, of pain endured with
unrepining fortitude; unalloyed in its purity indeed was their
happiness, for it was the recompense of virtue.

When the tidings of what