The Wheeling daily register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1864-1878, 1869-05-08

matter. Hitherto she had said not a
word of Brooke's proposal to any living
being. At present il was secret with
herself, but secret so big thatitalmost
caused her bosom to burst with the
load that it bore. She could not, she
thought, write to Priscilla till she had
told her aunt. If she were to write a
word on the subject to any one, she
could not fail to make manifest the ex-
treme longing of her own heart. She
could not have written Brooke's name
on paper, in reference to his words to
herself, without covering it with
epithets of love. But all that must
be- known to no enc if her love
wasato be of no avail to her. And
she had aHO idea that her aunt wouiG
not wish Brooke to marry her, -woulu
think that Brooke should do better;
and she was quite clear that IN sucn
a matter as this'ber aunt's wishes hlusS
be law. Had not her aunt the power oi
disinheriting Brooke altogether ! Anu
what then if her aunt should ule,.
shonld die pow.-leaying Brooke at I'D
erty to do as he pleasedi There was
something SO dis tasteful to her In thls
view of the matter that she wouid MOI
look at it. She would not allow nersell
IN think of any success which mlght
noss;bly accrue to herself by reason OF
her aunt's death. Intense as was the
longing in her heart for permission rom
those in authority over her TO give her-
self to Brooke Burgess, perfect as was
the earthly paradise which appeared 10
be open to her when she Thought OF tue
GOOD thing which had befallen her In
that matter she conceived that she
would be guilty of the gressest ingrati,,
tude were she in any degree to curtail
even her own estimator her aunts
prohibitory powers because OF her aunts
fitness. The remembrance of the words
which Brooke had spoken to her was
with her quite perfect. She was e1J
tirely conscious of the joy which would
be hers, if she might accept those words
as properly sanctioned; but she was q
creature in her aunt's hands,-accerdlng
to her own ideas of her own duties; and
while Der aunt was i'll, she could not
even learn what might be the behests
which she would be called on to obey.
She was sitting one evening alone,
thinking of all this, having left Martha
with her aunt, and was trying to recon
Gle the circumstances of her life as 1T
now existed with the circumstances as
they had been with her in the old days
at Nuncombe Putney, wondering at
herself in that she should have lover,
and trying to convince herself that for
her this little episode of romance could
mean nothing serious, when Martha
crept down into the room to her. OF
late days-the alteration might perhaps
be dated from the rejection of Mr.. Glib
son-Msrtha, who had always been very
kind, had become more respectful in
her manner to Dorothy than had here
tofore been usual with her. Dorothy
was quite aware of it, and was not I'M
conscious of q certain rise in the world
which was thereby indicated. "lf you
please miss" said Martha, "who do you
think is herep
"But there is nobody with my aunt |"
said Dorothy. aagi
"She is sleeping like babby, and /
came down just for a, moment. Mr..
Gibson is here, MISS lin the house, He
asked fer your aunt, and when, of course,
he could not see her, he asked for you"
Dorothy for a few minutes was utterly
but at last she consented
to see Mr.. Gibson. Think it is best"
said Martha. "because il is bad to be
Sighting, and missus so ill, BLESSED are
the peacemakers, miss, for they shall
be called the children of Cod" Con-
vinced by this argument, or by the
working of her own mind, Dorothy di-
rected that Mr.. Gibson might be shown
into the room. When he came, she
found herself unable to address him.
She remembered the last time in which
sue had seen him, and was lost in won
der that he should be there. But she
shook hands with him, and went through
some form OF greeting, in which no word
was uttered.