sed a reconciliation?' 'I put that question to
her myself.' 'How did she take it, sir?' 'She declined to take it.' 'You
mean that she declined a reconciliation?' 'Yes.' 'Are you sure she was
in earnest?' 'I am positively sure.' That last answer seems, by young
Dunboyne's own confession, to have been enough, and more than enough for
him. He got up to go--and then an odd thing happened. After giving him
the most unfavorable answers, the Governor patted him paternally on
the shoulder, and encouraged him to hope. 'Before we say good-by,
Mr. Philip, one word more. If I was as young as you are, I should not
despair.' There is a sudden change of front! Who can explain it?"

The Governor's mischievous resolution to reconcile Philip and Eunice
explained it, of course. With the best intentions (perhaps) Mrs.
Tenbruggen had helped that design by bringing the two men together. "Go
on," I said; "I am prepared to hear next that Philip has paid another
visit to my sister, and has been received this time."

I must say this for Mrs. Tenbruggen: she kept her temper perfectly.

"He has not been to the farm," she said, "but he has done something
nearly as foolish. He has written to your sister."

"And he has received a favorable reply, of course?"

She put her hand into the pocket of her dress.

"There is your sister's reply," she said.

Any persons who have had a crushing burden lifted, unexpectedly and
instantly, from off their minds, will know what I felt when I read the
reply. In the most positive language, Eunice refused to correspond with
Philip, or to speak with him. The concluding words proved that she was
in earnest. "You are engaged to Helena. Consider me as a stranger until
you are married. After that time you will be my brother-in-law, and then
I may pardon you for writing to me."

Nobody who knows Eunice would have supposed that she possessed those
two valuable qualities--common-sense and proper pride. It is pleasant
to feel that I can now send cards to my sister, when I am Mrs. Philip
Dunboyne.

I returned the letter to Mrs. Tenbruggen, with the sincerest expressions
of regret for having doubted her. "I have been unworthy of your generous
interest in me," I said; "I am almost ashamed to offer you my hand."

She took my hand, and gave it a good, heady shake.

"Are we friends?" she asked, in the simplest and prettiest manner.
"Then let us be easy and pleasant again," she went on. "Will you call
me Elizabeth; and sha