took both my hands and looked steadily into
my face,--'were you not about to ask me to marry your husband, in case
of your death, because you could think of it without being jealous of
me, and because you are afraid he might marry some one of whom you would
probably be jealous if you knew of it?'

"She looked at me in such a kind, strong way that I was obliged to
confess that this was my reason for speaking to her about Bernard. 'I
cannot exactly explain,' I added, and my face burned again, 'why I
should think about you in this way; but I hope you will not imagine--'

"'Oh, I shall not imagine anything that will be disagreeable to you,'
she said; and she looked just as good-humored as possible."

"Does that lady live in any place where my wife can get at her?" asked
the Master of the House, as the Next Neighbor paused to take breath.

"I have not yet developed a disease," said the Mistress of the House.

"Well, when you do, please find that woman. She is a very good sort."

"I shall have an opinion on that subject, papa," said the Daughter of
the House.

"You little minx!" he replied. "I shall see that you are provided for
before that."

"It is not well to joke about so serious a matter," said the Next
Neighbor, "as you will see when I finish my story.

"For a little while Miss Temple walked on in silence, and I tried hard
to think of what would be proper for me to say next, when suddenly she
stopped.

"'We are not far from the house now,' she said, 'and before we get there
I want to set your mind at rest by telling you that if you should die
before your husband, and if nothing should happen at any time or in any
way to interfere with such a plan, I will marry your Bernard and take
good care of him. I have never made such a positive promise to any one,
but I do not mind making it to you. I am sure I need not ask you to say
nothing about this compact to your husband.'

"I was stunned, but I managed to stammer: 'Oh, no, indeed!'

"Fortunately for me, Miss Temple did not stay to supper. I do not think
I could have borne to see her and Bernard together. It was bad enough
as it was. I felt greatly humiliated; I could not understand how I could
have done such a thing. It was worse than selling a birthright--it was
giving away the dearest thing on earth. I trembled from head to foot
when Bernard came home from fishing. I do not believe I ever before
greeted him so affectionately. My emotion troubled him, and he a