othing to prevent it," says Molly,
still laughing. "Nonsense, Teddy; don't be an old goose. You should
know by this time how it is with me."

"I am a selfish fellow, am I not?" says Luttrell, wistfully. "The very
thought that any one wants to take you from me renders me perfectly
miserable. And yet I know I ought to give you up,--to--to encourage you
to accept an offer that would place you in a position I shall never be
able to give you. But I cannot. Molly, I have come all this way to ask
you again to marry me, and----"

"Hush, Teddy. You know it is impossible."

"Why is it impossible? Other people have lived and been happy on five
hundred pounds a year. And after a while something might turn up to
enable us to help Letitia and the children."

"You are a little selfish now," she says, with gentle reproach. "I
could not let Letitia be without my help for even a short time. And
would you like your wife to sing in public, for money? Look at it in
that light, and answer me truly."

"No," without hesitation. "Not that your singing in public lowers you
in the faintest degree in any one's estimation; but I would not let my
wife support herself. I could not endure the thought. But might not
I----"

"You might not,"--raising her eyes,--"nor would I let you. I work for
those I love, and in that no one can help me."

"Are both our lives, then, to be sacrificed?"

"I will not call it a sacrifice on my part," says the girl, bravely,
although tears are heavy in her voice and eyes. "I am only doing some
little thing for him who did all for me. There is a joy that is almost
sacred in the thought. It has taken from me the terrible sting of his
death. To know I can still please him, can work for him, brings him
back to me from the other world. At times I lose the sense of farness,
and can feel him almost near."

"You are too good for me," says the young man, humbly, taking her hands
and kissing them twice.

"I am not. You must not say so," says Molly, hastily, the touch of his
lips weakening her.

Two large tears that have been slowly gathering roll down her cheeks.

"Oh, Teddy!" cries she, suddenly, covering her face with her hands, "at
times, when I see certain flowers or hear some music connected with the
olden days, my heart dies within me,--I lose all hope; and then I miss
you sorely,--_sorely_."

Her head is on his breast by this time; his strong young arms are round
her, holding her as though they would forever s