rrow. Will you marry me to-morrow, before we go North?
Then we shall be quite free to stop in Baltimore or to go on as you
prefer. I can go with you, at once, to close up the little house, if you
wish. Is there any reason why we should stay apart a day longer?"

"I don't know of any that would appeal to you. But there is one."

"May I know it?"

She hesitated. "I'm--very shabby," she said, reluctantly; "much shabbier
than you can guess."

"We'll go by the way of New York, and you can buy all you need. That's an
objection which turns into an argument for the other side, for I want
very much to see a certain old friend in New York, who was out of town
when I landed last week. I can do it while you shop. Doesn't that
convince you?"

"I can let it--if you really think it is best to be in such haste."

"Why not? Why should we waste another day apart that we could spend
together? At its longest life is too short for love."

"Yes," she murmured.

"I'm thankful, very thankful, that you are too womanly to insist on any
prolonging of what has certainly been separation enough. I felt that you
wouldn't. Oh, all through, it has been your womanliness I have counted
on, dear,--an inexhaustible, rich mine of sense and sweetness."

"You rate me too high," Charlotte protested, softly. "I'm only a
working-woman, now, you know. All the old traditions of the family have
been set aside by me."

"You have lived up to their traditions of nobility understood in just a
little different way. It is these years of effort which have made you
what you are. If I had known you in the days before trouble came to you
I might have admired your beauty, but I shouldn't have loved your soul."

"Then"--she looked up into his face--"I'm glad for everything I've
suffered."

* * * * *

The sunlight was pouring in again, next morning, when Charlotte awoke.
She lay, for a little, looking out into the treetops, holding the coming
day against her heart.

"I can't believe it; oh, I can't believe it," she whispered to herself.
"A week ago so heavy and forlorn and poor--to-day, in spite of losing
Granny, so rich, rich. I'm to be--his wife--this day--his wife! O God!
make me fit for him; make me fit to take his love!"

When she went downstairs she found him waiting at the foot, looking up at
her with his heart in his eyes, though his manner was as quiet and
composed as ever. At his side stood Martha Macauley, excited and