s was at home and Loftus looked strangely,
wildly happy.

Mrs. Bertram had been alarmed, and rendered vaguely uneasy by her son's
gloom a few days ago, but there was no shadow resting on the young man's
face now. He laughed, he talked, his eyes wore an exultant expression in
their fire and daring. He caressed his sisters, he hung over his
mother's chair, and kissed her.

"Ah, Loftie," she said once, "you are really and honestly in love. I
have had my doubts that you did not really appreciate our dear and noble
Beatrice. But your manner the last few days, your spirits, my son, your
all-evident happiness, have abundantly sent these doubts to rest. You
are in love with your future wife, and no wonder!"

"No wonder," echoed Loftus.

He had the grace to blush.

"Yes, I am in love," he said. "No one was ever more madly in love than I
am." Then after a pause he added: "And I think Beatrice, without
exception, the noblest and best woman on earth."

"That is right, my boy. Ah, Loftus, I am glad I could do one thing for
you. I have got you a wife whose price is above rubies."

Bertram laughed.

"You have made a feeble joke, mother," he said in some confusion. "I
should like to know to which you allude--Bee's money or her personal
charms."

"Both--both--you naughty boy Beatrice is all that could be desired in
herself, but in what position should you and I be in the future without
her money?"

"That is true," he said. And there was compunction in his voice.

On Monday morning two letters arrived at Northbury from the Rector. One
was to his housekeeper, the other to Beatrice.

To his housekeeper, Mrs. Matthews, he said:

"Go on with all the wedding preparations, and expect me home this
evening at six o'clock."

His letter to Beatrice was much longer.

"The time to reproach you, my dear ward, is past," began the Rector.
"And you must promise never in the future to reproach me. You are an
impulsive girl, and I may have done wrong to yield to your entreaties.
Your father's face, has, however, over and over flashed before my mental
vision, and the look in his eyes has comforted me. In one sense you are
a fool, Beatrice; in another, you are thrice blessed. Forgive this
little preamble. I have arranged matters as you wish. I shall be home
this evening. Come to me in my study at nine o'clock to-night, my dear
ward, and act in the meantime exactly as your true, brave heart
suggests."

Beatrice read this letter in her o