y satisfactory to Mr. Arabin.

And now it remained to them each to enjoy the assurance of the other's
love. And how great that luxury is! How far it surpasses any other
pleasure which God has allowed to his creatures! And to a woman's
heart how doubly delightful!

When the ivy has found its tower, when the delicate creeper has found
its strong wall, we know how the parasite plants grow and prosper.
They were not created to stretch forth their branches alone, and
endure without protection the summer's sun and the winter's storm.
Alone they but spread themselves on the ground and cower unseen in
the dingy shade. But when they have found their firm supporters, how
wonderful is their beauty; how all-pervading and victorious! What
is the turret without its ivy, or the high garden wall without the
jasmine which gives it its beauty and fragrance? The hedge without
the honeysuckle is but a hedge.

There is a feeling still half-existing, but now half-conquered by the
force of human nature, that a woman should be ashamed of her love till
the husband's right to her compels her to acknowledge it. We would
fain preach a different doctrine. A woman should glory in her love,
but on that account let her take the more care that it be such as to
justify her glory.

Eleanor did glory in hers, and she felt, and had cause to feel, that
it deserved to be held as glorious. She could have stood there for
hours with his arm round her, had fate and Mr. Thorne permitted it.
Each moment she crept nearer to his bosom and felt more and more
certain that there was her home. What now to her was the archdeacon's
arrogance, her sister's coldness, or her dear father's weakness? What
need she care for the duplicity of such friends as Charlotte Stanhope?
She had found the strong shield that should guard her from all wrongs,
the trusty pilot that should henceforward guide her through the shoals
and rocks. She would give up the heavy burden of her independence, and
once more assume the position of a woman and the duties of a trusting
and loving wife.

And he, too, stood there fully satisfied with his place. They were
both looking intently on the fire, as though they could read there
their future fate, till at last Eleanor turned her face towards his.
"How sad you are," she said, smiling; and indeed his face was, if not
sad, at least serious. "How sad you are, love!"

"Sad," said he, looking down at her; "no, certainly not sad." Her
sweet, loving eyes