ll shone down on her soft curly hair and young face
as she stood with her hand resting on the bannister. Neal thought he had
never seen so lovely a picture.

"I want to speak to you, Cynth," he said, leaning against the carved
post at the foot of the stairs and effectually barring the way. There
was nothing for her to do but to listen. "I have tried for ages, ever
since I came, and you never will give me a chance."

"Nonsense! You have been away. How could you expect to talk to me if you
went away?"

"I know; but I had to go. Besides, you wouldn't have let me if I had
been here."

"Let us go back to the parlor. It is almost twelve."

"No, I want you here."

Cynthia was about to reply defiantly, but something in Neal's eyes made
her drop her own. She stood there in silence.

"Cynthia, do you remember that day on the river in the rain?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember what you called me then?" No reply.

"Tell me, Cynth; do you remember what you called me?"

"Yes," very low.

"You called me a coward. Do you think I am one now?"

"Oh no."

"But you also said you had faith in me, Cynthia; and in Philadelphia
that spring I told you I was going to prove to you that I was worthy of
your faith. Do you think I have, Cynthia?"

"Yes, Neal."

He said nothing for a minute. Then he glanced at the old clock in the
back part of the hall. It was five minutes of twelve.

"Come to the hall window, Cynthia," he said, taking her hand; and
Cynthia went with him. "That other New-year's eve we stood here and
looked out on the snow just as we're doing now. Do you remember?"

"And I made good resolutions which I never kept," said Cynthia, finding
her voice at last. "Oh, Neal, my bureau drawers are just as untidy and
my tongue is just as unruly as ever! I make the same good resolutions
every New-year's eve, but I always break them. You were wiser. You would
not promise that night when I wanted you to, but you have done a great
deal better than if you had."

"I would not promise when I should have done so. But won't you return
good for evil, Cynthia, and promise me something? Promise me that before
many more New-year's eves have come and gone you will be my wife! For I
love you--love you, Cynthia! I have loved you ever since that day on the
river--indeed, long before that! Hark! the clock is beginning to strike.
Promise before it stops."

And Cynthia promised.

And the old clock struck twelve, as it had done thousands of tim