d rob him of the
comfort of her love!

In the evening, after thinking of it for hours, she told her aunt;
or, rather, handed to her Arthur's letter, that she might read it.
Miss Penelope's face grew very long as she did read it; and she made
this remark--"Three hundred and fifty pounds! why, my dear, there
will be only one hundred and fifty left."

"We can't keep our carriage, certainly, aunt."

"Then you mean to accept him?"

"Yes, aunt."

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! What will you do when the children come?"

"We must make the best of it, aunt."

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! And you will have his mother with you always."

"If so, then we should not be so very poor; but I do not think that
that is what Arthur means."

There was not much more said about it between them; and at last, in
the seclusion of her own bedroom, Adela wrote her letter.

Littlebath, Tuesday night.

Dear Arthur,

I received your letter this morning; but as you were so
kind as to give me a day to answer it, I have put off
doing so till I could be quite alone. It will be a very
simple answer. I value your love more than anything in
the world. You have my whole heart. I hope, for your sake,
that the troubles which you speak of will not be many; but
whatever they may be, I will share them. If I can, I will
lessen them.

I hope it is not unmaidenly to say that I have received
your dear letter with true delight; I do not know why
it should be. We have known each other so long, that it
is almost natural that I should love you. I do love you
dearly, dearest Arthur; and with a heart thankful for
God's goodness to me, I will put my hand in yours with
perfect trust--fearing nothing, then, as far as this world
is concerned.

I do not regard the poverty of which you speak, at least
not for my own sake. What I have of my own is, I know,
very little. I wish now that I could make it more for you.
But, no; I will wish for nothing more, seeing that so much
has been given to me. Everything has been given to me when
I have your love.

I hope that this will not interfere with your mother's
comfort. If anything now could make me unhappy, it would
be that she should not be pleased at our prospects. Give
her my kindest, kindest love; and tell her that I hope she
will let me look on her as a mother.

I will write to Mary very soon; but bid her write to me
first. I canno