o leave for a moment the
corpse of her grandfather. When she was at last induced to do so,
Wilkins sent for an undertaker and had the body fitly prepared for its
last resting-place.

Finding that Blanche would not think of taking a moments rest, or of
remaining away from the corpse, Wilkins, and Guly, and Minny remained
with her in that lonely and desolate room, where the shadow of death
hung so darkly, until the morning sun streamed in through the little
windows, robbing the chamber of some of its darkness and gloom.

It was not thought advisable to keep the body long, and the next
afternoon the funeral took place. Guly attended it, as did Wilkins'
family, and a few of Blanche's Creole neighbors.

When the last sad rites were over, Guly attended Blanche back to her
lonely home. Wilkins kindly offered her a home in his house, an offer
which Della warmly seconded; but Blanche had sufficient tact to see that
Wilkins was poor, and had no little difficulty to support his own family
comfortably, and she gratefully declined his invitation, stating there
was much that required her attention for the present at home, but that
she would soon visit them.

When she returned to the old spot, endeared to her by so many fond
associations, her grief again burst forth, and Guly drawing a chair to
her side strove to soothe and comfort her.

He could not leave her there without telling how deeply and truly he
loved her, how faithfully his love would always endure, and how
earnestly he desired that love should be returned.

Placing both her hands in his, Blanche told him in her own frank,
innocent way, how dearly she loved him in return, and how fondly she had
thought of him since the first day they ever met, and that she would
never love any one else, never, never.

"And one of these days when I am a man, and have a nice little home to
offer you, you will be my own dear little wife. Blanche, you promise?"

"I promise, Guly, I could never be happy as the dear little wife of any
one else, and when you say, 'Blanche, I want you now,' then Blanche is
yours."

Guly pressed her to his heart and they plighted troth. This was but boy
and girl love, but it was a love which decayed not, neither did it fade,
but flourished and grew, even with the hand of sorrow and trial crushing
out its young life.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

"Will fortune never come with both hands full,
But write her fair words still in fairest letters?
She