ry little experience as to the signs and tokens of
the tender passion. But I will sound my little girl by and by. She will
be more ready to confess the truth to her old uncle than she would to
you, perhaps. I think you have been a trifle hasty about this affair.
There is so much in time and custom."

"It is only a cold kind of love that grows out of custom," Gilbert
answered gloomily. "But I daresay you are right, and that it would have
been better for me to have waited."

"You may hope everything, if you can-only be patient," said the Captain.
"I tell you frankly, that nothing would make me happier than to see my
dear child married to a good man. I have had many dreary thoughts about
her future of late. I think you know that I have nothing to leave her."

"I have never thought of that. If she were destined to inherit all the
wealth of the Rothschilds, she could be no dearer to me than she is."

"Ah, what a noble thing true love is! And do you know that she is not
really my niece--only a poor waif that I adopted fourteen years ago?"

"I have heard as much from her own lips. There is nothing, except some
unworthiness in herself, that could make any change in my estimation of
her."

"Unworthiness in herself! You need never fear that. But I must tell you
Marian's story before this business goes any farther. Will you come and
smoke your cigar with me to-night? She is going to drink tea at a
neighbour's, and we shall be alone. They are all fond of her, poor
child."

"I shall be very happy to come. And in the meantime, you will try and
ascertain the real state of her feelings without distressing her in any
way; and you will tell me the truth with all frankness, even if it is to
be a deathblow to all my hopes?"

"Even if it should be that. But I do not fear such a melancholy result. I
think Marian is sensible enough to know the value of an honest man's
heart."

Gilbert quitted the Captain in a more hopeful spirit than that in which
he had gone to the cottage that day. It was only reasonable that this man
should be the best judge of his niece's feelings.

Left alone, George Sedgewick paced the room in a meditative mood, with
his hands thrust deep into his trousers-pockets, and his gray head bent
thoughtfully.

"She must like him," he muttered to himself. "Why should not she like
him?--good-looking, generous, clever, prosperous, well-connected, and
over head and ears in love with her. Such a marriage is the very thi