ng into a miserable, useless old bachelor. I have thrown away
my life: I shall be the last apple left on the tree--and a tolerably
withered one too. But no matter. The world shall see the sunny half of
me to the last."

He laughed rather tunelessly at his own bitter jest, and after a brief
silence, recovered his accustomed manner.

"So so; such things must be, and I, though a bachelor myself, have no
right to forbid marriages. Allow me to congratulate you. Of course you
have answered this letter? My brother knows his happiness?"

"He knows nothing; but I wished that he should do so to-day, after I
had spoken to you. It was a respect I felt to be your due, to form no
engagement of this kind without your knowledge."

"Thank you," he said in a low voice.

"You have been good and kind to me," continued Agatha, a little touched,
"and I wished to have your approval in all things--chiefly in this. Is
it so?"

He offered his hand, saying, "God bless you!" with a quivering lip. He
even muttered "child;" as though he felt how old he was growing, and
how he had let all life's happiness slip by, until it was just that he
should no longer claim it, but be content to see young people rejoicing
in their youth. After a pause, he added, "Now, shall I go and fetch my
brother?"

"No," replied Agatha, "send for him, and do you stay here."

"As you please," said Major Harper, a good deal surprised at this very
original way of conducting a love affair. After courteously offering to
withdraw himself to the dining-room, which Agatha declined, he sat and
waited with her during the few minutes that elapsed before his brother
appeared.

Nathanael looked much agitated; his boyish face seemed to have grown
years older since the preceding night. He paused at the door, and
glanced with suspicion on his brother and Miss Bowen.

"You sent for me, Frederick?"

"It was I who sent for you," said Agatha. And then steadfastly regarding
him whom she had tacitly accepted as her husband, the guide and ruler
of her whole life--her self-possession failed. A great timidity,
almost amounting to terror, came over her. Vaguely she felt the want of
something unknown--something which in the whirl of her destiny she could
grasp and hold by, sure that she held fast to the right. It was the one
emotion, neither regard, liking, honour, or esteem, yet including and
surpassing all--the _love_, strong, pure love, without which it is so
dangerous, often so fatal