r
adopted child.

Bog took the seat, and smiled across the good lady's broad figure to
Pet, who smiled back at him again.

This expressive exchange of glances was not lost on Marcus. He instantly
saw, what he had not divined before, that the devotion, the
self-sacrifice, the constant, unswerving love of the boy, had at last
sounded its echo in the bosom of the maiden. As he swiftly contrasted
the manly, athletic figure of the young man, with the delicate beauty of
his niece, he thought how well they were adapted to each other; and
wondered that he could ever have been so blind and conceited as to
suppose that a nervous old bachelor like himself could win the heart of
that fresh and youthful image of loveliness. And how thankful he then
was that he had never, by a single word, hinted at the mad love which he
once felt for her.

He had no cause to blush now!

BOOK FOURTEENTH.

HAPPY DAYS.

CHAPTER I.

OWNERS OF THE BEAUTIFUL.

The world and all its inhabitants had rolled round to another fragrant
spring. The buds were bursting in city parks and gardens, and birds
twittered in the dusty air. Every happy heart said to itself, "This
green, and these opening roses, this music of the birds, this shining
day, this temperate breeze, are all mine, and made for me."

There were two young persons, one sweet morning in May, who experienced
a delightful sense of that universal proprietorship of the Beautiful.
They were a couple who appeared to be expressly made for each other; for
the young man was tall and broad chested, the young woman short, and
delicately formed; his eyes were black, hers blue; he was calm,
resolute, deliberate in every movement, she quick and impulsive. There
never was a clearer case of mutual fitness by virtue of entire
dissimilarity.

Any one could see that they loved each other, and that, if they were not
married, they were engaged--for her little hand was entwined most
trustingly about his muscular arm, and she leaned toward him with that
gentle inclination which seems to be a magnetism of the heart.

"Are you happy, my own Pet?" asked the young man, looking proudly down
at the beautiful face beside him.

"Happy! dear Bog--for I _will_ always call you Bog. You know I am!" Her
blue eyes filled with tears.

If excess of happiness had not choked her voice, she would have asked
Bog if he thought she could be other than perfectly happy in the love of
her adopted mother, in the love of h