n with me, at this table, and let
us see what the letters have brought us."

They took their seats opposite each other at a small table, and Old
Hurricane threw the whole mail between them, and began to pick out the
letters.

"That's for you, Cap. This is for me," he said, pitching out two in the
handwriting of Herbert Greyson.

Cap opened hers and commenced reading. It was in fact Herbert's first
downright, practical proposal of marriage, in which he begged that
their union might take place as soon as he should return, and that as
he had written to his uncle by the same mail, upon another subject,
which he did not wish to mix up with his own marriage, she would, upon
a proper opportunity, let her uncle know of their plans.

"Upon my word, he takes my consent very coolly as a matter of course,
and even forces upon me the disagreeable duty of asking myself of my
own uncle! Who ever heard of such proceedings? If he were not coming
home from the wars, I declare I should get angry; but I won't get upon
my dignity with Herbert--dear, darling, sweet Herbert. If it were
anybody else, shouldn't they know the difference between their liege
lady and Tom Trotter? However, as it's Herbert, here goes! Now, I
suppose the best way to ask myself of uncle, for Herbert, will be just
to hand him over this matter. The dear knows it isn't so over and above
affectionate that I should hesitate. Uncle," said Cap, pulling Old
Hurricane's coat sleeve.

"Don't bother me, Cap," exclaimed Major Warfield, who sat there,
holding a large, closely written document in his hand, with his great
round eyes strained from their sockets, as they passed along the lines
with devouring interest.

"Well, I do declare! I do believe he has received a proposal of
marriage himself," cried Cap, shooting much nearer the truth than she
knew.

Old Hurricane did not hear her. Starting up with the document in his
hand, he rushed from the room and went and shut himself up in his own
study.

"I vow, some widow has offered to marry him," said Cap, to herself.

Old Hurricane did not come to dinner, nor to supper. But after supper,
when Capitola's wonder was at its climax, and while she was sitting by
the little wood fire that that chilly evening required, Old Hurricane
came in, looking very unlike himself, in an humble, confused,
deprecating, yet happy manner, like one who had at once a mortifying
confession to make, and a happy secret to tell.

"Cap," he said, t