p at times and overflows my heart. How thankful I should
be that I may pour it upon you and that it will not be wasted. How good
you are to give me the sweet privilege."

"How thankful should I be, Dorothy. I have never known you till this
night. I am unworthy--"

"Not another word of that sort, John," she interrupted, covering his mouth
with her hand.

They stood for a long time talking a deal of celestial nonsense which I
shall not give you. I fear I have already given you too much of what John
and Dorothy did and said in this very sentimental interview. But in no
other way can I so well make you to know the persons of whom I write. I
might have said Dorothy was so and so, and John was such and such. I might
have analyzed them in long, dull pages of minute description; but it is
that which persons do and say that gives us true concept of their
characters; what others say about them is little else than a mere
statement that black is black and white is white. But to my story again.

Dorothy by her beauty had won John's admiration when first he beheld her.
When he met her afterward, her charms of mind and her thousand winsome
ways moved him deeply. But upon the evening of which I am now telling you
he beheld for the first time her grand burning soul, and he saw her pure
heart filled to overflowing with its dangerous burden of love, right from
the hands of God Himself, as the girl had said. John was of a coarser
fibre than she who had put him up for her idol; but his sensibilities were
keen, and at their awakening he saw clearly the worth of the priceless
treasure which propitious fate had given him in the love of Dorothy, and
he sat humbly at her feet. Yet she knew it not, but sat humbly at John's
feet the happiest woman in all the world because of her great good fortune
in having a demi-god upon whom she could lavish the untold wealth of her
heart. If you are a woman, pray God that He may touch your eyes with
Dorothy's blessed blindness. There is a heaven in the dark for you, if you
can find it.

I must leave the scene, though I am loath to do so. Seldom do we catch a
glimpse of a human soul, and more seldom still does it show itself like a
gust of God's breath upon the deep of eternity as it did that night in
Dorothy.

After a time John said: "I have your promise to be my wife. Do you still
wish to keep it?"

"What an absurd question, John," replied the girl, laughing softly and
contentedly. "Why else am I here