er in this as in everything; that he knew
he was selfish, and he was afraid he was not very good; but it was not
because he had not wished to be so; it was because he had not had any
incentive. He thought how much nobler and better this was than the talk
he had usually had with girls. He said that of course he would go home
and tell his people; he saw now that it would make them happier if they
could hear it directly from him. He had only thought of writing because
he could not bear to think of letting a day pass without seeing her; but
if he took the early morning train he could get back the same night,
and still have three hours at Ponkwasset Falls, and he would go the next
day, if she said so.

"Go to-day, Dan," she said, and she stretched out her hand impressively
across the table toward him. He seized it with a gush of tenderness, and
they drew together in their resolution to live for others. He said he
would go at once. But the next train did not leave till two o'clock, and
there was plenty of time. In the meanwhile it was in the accomplishment
of their high aims that they sat down on the sofa together and talked of
their future; Alice conditioned it wholly upon his people's approval
of her, which seemed wildly unnecessary to Mavering, and amused him
immensely.

"Yes," she said, "I know you will think me strange in a great many
things; but I shall never keep anything from you, and I'm going to tell
you that I went to matins this morning."

"To matins?" echoed Dan. He would not quite have liked her a Catholic;
he remembered with relief that she had said she was not a Roman
Catholic; though when he came to think, he would not have cared a great
deal. Nothing could have changed her from being Alice.

"Yes, I wished to consecrate the first morning of our engagement; and
I'm always going. I determined that I would go before breakfast--that
was what made breakfast so late. Don't you like it?" she asked timidly.

"Like it!" he said. "I'm going with you:"

"Oh no!" she turned upon him. "That wouldn't do." She became grave
again. "I'm glad you approve of it, for I should feel that there was
something wanting to our happiness. If marriage is a sacrament, why
shouldn't an engagement be?"

"It is," said Dan, and he felt that it was holy; till then he had never
realised that marriage was a sacrament, though he had often heard the
phrase.

At the end of an hour they took a tender leave of each other, hastened
by the s