ld never speak--he would discover her secret and
withdraw. She turned pale at the thought,--ah, God! something would
happen,--it was too good to be true. The Prince would never try on the
glass slipper.

Tryon first told his love for Rena one summer evening on their way home
from church. They were walking in the moonlight along the quiet
street, which, but for their presence, seemed quite deserted.

"Miss Warwick--Rowena," he said, clasping with his right hand the hand
that rested on his left arm, "I love you! Do you--love me?"

To Rena this simple avowal came with much greater force than a more
formal declaration could have had. It appealed to her own simple
nature. Indeed, few women at such a moment criticise the form in which
the most fateful words of life--but one--are spoken. Words, while
pleasant, are really superfluous. Her whispered "Yes" spoke volumes.

They walked on past the house, along the country road into which the
street soon merged. When they returned, an hour later, they found
Warwick seated on the piazza, in a rocking-chair, smoking a fragrant
cigar.

"Well, children," he observed with mock severity, "you are late in
getting home from church. The sermon must have been extremely long."

"We have been attending an after-meeting," replied Tryon joyfully, "and
have been discussing an old text, 'Little children, love one another,'
and its corollary, 'It is not good for man to live alone.' John, I am
the happiest man alive. Your sister has promised to marry me. I
should like to shake my brother's hand."

Never does one feel so strongly the universal brotherhood of man as
when one loves some other fellow's sister. Warwick sprang from his
chair and clasped Tryon's extended hand with real emotion. He knew of
no man whom he would have preferred to Tryon as a husband for his
sister.

"My dear George--my dear sister," he exclaimed, "I am very, very glad.
I wish you every happiness. My sister is the most fortunate of women."

"And I am the luckiest of men," cried Tryon.

"I wish you every happiness," repeated Warwick; adding, with a touch of
solemnity, as a certain thought, never far distant, occurred to him, "I
hope that neither of you may ever regret your choice."

Thus placed upon the footing of an accepted lover, Tryon's visits to
the house became more frequent. He wished to fix a time for the
marriage, but at this point Rena developed a strange reluctance.

"Can we not love each o