iculty or hesitation. It was after
Horace had joined them, and he laid his hand lightly on her shoulder as
she was contemplating her new signature.

"Nearly done?" he said. "And who is to have the benefit of all this?"

"Addie: she ought to know."

"Ah!" There was something of uneasiness in his tone, as if an unpleasant
idea had been presented to him. Horace had felt, when he arranged his
secret marriage, that he and Lottie were doing a daring and romantic
deed, and risking all for love in a truly heroic fashion. But when she
told him that she had written to Addie the matter wore a less heroic
aspect. Lottie might be unconscious of this in her sweet sincerity,
thought the ardent lover, but he remembered old days and felt like
anything but a hero.

"Do you want to see what I have said?" She tilted her chair backward and
looked up at him with her great clear eyes.

"No," Horace answered with a smile: "I'm not going to pry into your
letters." In his heart he knew that it was impossible to put the
revelation of their secret to Addie into any words that would not be
painful to him to read.

"Shall I give any message for you?"

"N-no," said Horace, doubtfully: "I think not."

"It might be considered more civil if you sent one."

"Then say anything you please," was the half-reluctant rejoinder.

"Oh, I'm not going to invent your messages, you lazy boy! A likely
story!" Lottie sprang up and put the pen into his hand: "There! write
for yourself, sir."

Horace thought that a refusal would betray his feelings about Addie, and
he sat down, wondering what he was going to say. But his eye was caught
by the last two words of the letter, "LOTTIE THORNE;" and as he looked
at them the young husband forgot Addie and his lips curved in a tender
smile.

"Make haste," said Lottie from the window--"make haste and come to me."

Horace started from his happy reverie, set his teeth and wrote:

"DEAR ADDIE: I suppose Lottie has told you everything. It was a reckless
thing to do, no doubt: perhaps you will say it was wrong and underhand.
Some people will, I dare say, but I hope you won't, for I should like to
start with your good wishes. May I call myself

"Your brother, H.T.?"

In due time came the answer:

"DEAR HORACE: I will not pass judgment on you and your doings: I am not
clever in arguing such matters. I will only say (which is more to the
point, isn't it?) that you and Lottie have my best wishes for the
safe-keeping