Year: 1878

marry YOU now, tomorrow If you will, and
take you with me to my work. 1t will be
terrible change for you, but will do the best
1 can. VIII you go?" "Ought to? Would
not the anxieties and troubles that already
weigh you down increase four fold? Are
you in position to marry me?' As flash
he saw his room at Glenville, the barrennesS
of the place, the dreary look that it always
wore, and contrasted it with the home that
Margaret had always known. How could
she meet the petty trials and sacrifices of
such life, she who could give up fortune,
but could not wear a patched dress. And
yet what right had he to utter word
of warning? Might it not be the
outgrowth of his love for Ruth, his promise
to Miss Carlyle? Ruth would not have talked
So She would have been helpmate, wife
in every sense. He had seen her working in
her own home, so she would work In his
home. Frightening even poverty by her
sunny smiles and her loving heart. Mar
garet touched his arm, "Have you forgotten
that am waiting for an answer? viii you
accept Lawrence Vances offer? l assured
him when we were talking about ii that you
would, for imagined you loved me enough
to desire to provide well for me-" But
can not do such thing. l would forfeit
forever my peace of mind and heart
Already my soul is troubled with my sins
urge Forget it Margaret, be my wife, share
my home, humble as it Is, and | will try to
make you happy" ''No, il you do not love
me well enough for this we may say fare
we'll here. l hardly thought you would
leave me at such time, and if this is your
idea of religion l want no more of it. You
could have been a son to poor, bereayed
protected her, but ii you will not,
will never leave her and my home
to wander around the country with
a man who cares nothing for me. But, Hugh
darling, will you not do as | wish? You can
be a member of dozen churches and 1 will
go as many times to service on Sunday as
you desire. You can have it all your own
way with Lawrence; he is so good natured.
He simply wants the name of being in busi-
ness and plenty OF leisure TO do as he chooses.
He would go anywhere 1 would tell Ehim; 1
would never have to beg him" Margaret
would he do that which he knew was wrong
simply to please your ''Yes." 'Then he
is weaker than 1 am, with all my faults. l
am poor minister, stumbling and straying
into forbidden paths, but not even for your
love can 1 give up my chosen work" The
last words had scarcely passed his lips when
the heavy gold betrothal ring that he had
| slipped on her finger on one OF the merry,
happy courting days fell into his hand, and
without word Margaret Carlyle left the
ROOM In few moments a servant entered
with package, saying: "From Miss Carlyle,
and she begs to be excused from seeing you
again." He knew the contents of the parcel,
| but be united it and looked again at
the letters written many of them in
the first ardor of his passion, of love
that he had believed would pass away with
his life. a note accompanied them: "Mr
Arnold, please consider our betrothal at an
end. May I trust to your honor to return
my letters as soon as possible? Margaret
Carlyle" He left the house, meeting on
the threshold Lawrence Vance. Say, Arm
old, did Maggie tell you what proposed to
her about partnership and so on? She
wants you to stop preaching, and / want
fellow with more sense than 1 have"
Enough, sir. 1 should imagine it would
require more sense than you seem to possess
to conduct any business, however small"
and, with bow, he passed on, leaving Vance
| in a dilemma as to whether he was crazy or
in fun.


Back to Glenville, with a wearier heart
than he had ever before carried in his
breast. A sense of his own uprightness
strengthened him omewhat, a feeling that
he had done that which was right, but there
was also regret and sadness. 1t seemed so
unmanly to leave Margaret when she so
badly needed a strong arm and brave
heart. He appeared even 10 his own
conscience a poltroon, who, loving
a woman in the days of her prosperity, de-
serts her when trouble and Affections come.
He had wooed her when she was rich and
happy, and now that adversely had settled
down upon her, he had left her to meet it
alone. And yet he could not do otherwise
when she presented the alternative to him,
either to leave her or leave his work. He

could not have acted otherwise than as he
did, no matter what had been the cost of his
refusal to abandon the ministry. Buthe felt
depressed and gloomy. Glenville had never
seemed so dreary, nor his room so lonely.
His landlady was ready to ply him with
| questions as to his visit, but he simply told
her he had been to the funeral of an old
friend, and there she had to let the matter
drop. His first duty was to send back to
Margaret her letters, with word of farewell,
and this done he once again began his church
labors. He longed to see Ruth, to talk with
her; bat he shrank from telling her of the
past before asking pledges of her for the
| future.


RIO be Continued.l


/ Written for the SUNDAY Sentinel.


Girls and Pianos.


'Tis said that music is pre-eminentIy the
art of the nineteenth century. Is it the art