acres. Only I must make one positive condition. I have nothing to
give my child during my lifetime; but one thing I have done for her;
years ago I insured my life for six thousand pounds; and you must do the
same. I will not have her thrown on the world a widow, with a child or
two, perhaps, to support, and not a farthing; you know the insecurity of
mortal life."

"I do! I do! Why, of course I will insure my life, and pay the annual
premium out of my little capital, until income flows in."

"Will you hand me over a sum sufficient to pay that premium for five
years?"

"With pleasure."

"Then I fear," said the old gentleman, with a sigh, "my opposition to
the match must cease here. I still recommend you to wait; but--there! I
might just as well advise fire and tow to live neighbors and keep cool."

To show the injustice of this simile, Christopher Staines started up
with his eyes all aglow, and cried out, rapturously, "Oh, sir, may I
tell her?"

"Yes, you may tell her," said Lusignan, with a smile. "Stop--what are
you going to tell her?"

"That you consent, sir. God bless you! God bless you! Oh!"

"Yes, but that I advise you to wait."

"I'll tell her all," said Staines, and rushed out even as he spoke, and
upset a heavy chair with a loud thud.

"Ah! ah!" cried the old gentleman in dismay, and put his fingers in his
ears--too late. "I see," said he, "there will be no peace and quiet
now till they are out of the house." He lighted a soothing cigar to
counteract the fracas.

"Poor little Rosa! a child but yesterday, and now to encounter the cares
of a wife, and perhaps a mother. Ah! she is but young, but young."

The old gentleman prophesied truly; from that moment he had no peace
till he withdrew all semblance of dissent, and even of procrastination.

Christopher insured his life for six thousand pounds, and assigned the
policy to his wife. Four hundred pounds was handed to Mr. Lusignan to
pay the premiums until the genius of Dr. Staines should have secured him
that large professional income, which does not come all at once, even to
the rare physician, who is Capax, Efficax, Sagax.

The wedding-day was named. The bridesmaids were selected, the guests
invited. None refused but Uncle Philip. He declined, in his fine
bold hand, to countenance in person an act of folly he disapproved.
Christopher put his letter away with a momentary sigh, and would not
show it Rosa. All other letters they read together, charmin