pressed it, and would have
carried it to his lips, but her wicked little pony suddenly jerked away.

"My own dearest Marian," he said; "my frank, generous love! if I were
going to remain in this neighborhood this winter, no consideration, I
fear, for others' good, would induce me to consent to part with you."

It was now Marian's turn to change color, and falter in her tones, as
she asked:

"You--you are not going away?"

"Sweet Marian, yes! A duty--a necessity too imperative to be denied,
summons me."

She kept her eyes fixed on his face in painful anxiety.

"I will explain. You have heard, dear Marian, that after my father's
death my mother married a second time?"

"No--I never heard of it."

"She did, however--her second husband was a Scotchman. She lived with
him seven years, and then died, leaving him one child, a boy six years
of age. After my mother's death, my stepfather returned to Scotland,
taking with him my half-brother, and leaving me with my grandfather. And
all communication gradually ceased between us. Within this week,
however, I have received letters from Edinburgh, informing me of the
death of my stepfather, and the perfect destitution of my half-brother,
now a lad of twelve years of age. He is at present staying with the
clergyman who attended his father in his last illness, and who has
written me the letters giving me the information that I now give you.
Thus, you see, my dearest love, how urgent the duty is that takes me
from your side. Yet--What! tears, my Marian! Ah, if so! let my dearest
one but say the word, and I will not leave her. I will send money over
to the lad instead."

"No, no! Ah! no, never trust your mother's orphan boy to strangers, or
to his own guidance. Go for the poor, desolate lad, and never leave him,
or suffer him to leave you. I know what orphanage in childhood is, dear
Thurston, and so must you. Bring the boy home. And if he lives with you,
I will do all I can to supply his mother's place."

"Dear girl! dear, dear Marian, my heart so longs to press you to itself.
A plague upon these horses that keep us so far apart! I wish we were on
foot!"

"Do you?" smiled Marian, directing his attention to the sloppy path down
which they were riding.

Thurston smiled ruefully, and then sighed.

"When do you set out on your long journey, dear Thurston?"

"I have not fixed the time, my Marian! I have not the courage to name
the day that shall part us for so long."

He l