ions in
Washington that a society journal had publicly announced their
engagement; whereupon Jerome had delivered his ultimatum--she would
marry him at once or else they were quits.

"And I don't blame him," declared Rube, "not one bit! He stood as much
at her hands, and stood it as long, as a man _can_ stand. I never
could have taken the same from you."

Ah, Rube, we little know, any of us, just what we are taking at any
hour in the day and at the hands of our own friends!

It is well for us that we do not.

"And now," inquired Mell, scarcely able to articulate, so great was
her agitation, "what is Clara going to do?"

"She is going to marry the Honorable Archibald," replied Rube, adding,
with the breezy disgust of a sunny temper: "It's a confounded shame!
He's old enough for her father, and I don't believe she cares _that_
about him! But he's a great statesman, and there's a good prospect of
his getting into the White House some of these days; and some women
love social eminence better than they do their own souls! I am glad
you are not one of that kind, Mell--you will be content with your
planter husband, won't you, Mell?"

"I have written him to come to our wedding," pursued Rube. "I like him
as well as ever--even more! He's a splendid fellow! I hope he will
come, but I think it hardly probable."

Mell thought, too, it was hardly probable. After this, things went
wrong again with Mell. Her trousseau ceased to occupy her time and
attention; her wayward thoughts waged internecine strife in regions of
turmoil and vain speculation.

Meanwhile, Jerome made no sign.

"Woe is me!" wept Mell. Much had she wept since her father died; but a
dead man is not half so sore a subject of weeping as a living woman's
unworthiness, when it falls under her own judgment.

"To do right is the only thing," moaned the unhappy girl--"to do right
and give no heed to consequences. I have learned the lesson at last.
It has been a hard one. Henceforth I am going to do right though I
slay myself in the doing."

She prayed that night as she had never prayed in all her life before.
She asked for divine help in doing right by Rube. And she arose from
her knees strengthened to do her duty, as she then conceived it.

CHAPTER VII.

THE LAST STRUGGLE.

And the quiet days pass one by one--each one very like the other--until
the last sun has set, and the evening lights gleam in the old
farm-house on the last night before the wedding-