Year: 1874




but little deliberation to ask her to become
his wife. Even as it was, he confessed to him.
self that she pleased him better than any one
he had ever before seen. He had left home at
eighteen, firmly convinced that he was in love
with his cousin, Julia Hargrave, and looking
forward to marrying her on his return; had
heard twelve months later of her union with
a naval officer, abandoned himself for the
space of fortnight to the profoundest melan'
choly, then sought consolation in the charms
of the daughter of a Leipsic landlady; had
firted with dozens of Lottas and Minas, lost
his heart nine successive times and managed
to recover it, and finally bid adieu to the
University with the conviction that Kitchen
Won Arndt would die of grief at his departure
and now by way of crowning these varied ex-
periences, he was quite as ready as ever to
yield to the dictates of his present fancy, and
to declare Elsie Deane the prettiest, most at
tractive and most loveable little creature OF
all.


Perhaps one of her chief charms lay in the
fact that she believed in him so entirely. She
could not suppose that any one would insln,
cerely utter such protestations as daily fell
from his lips and when her own timidity had
worn off, and she gained courage to acknowl-
edge her regard for him, he was surprised,
touched, and half fincredulous at the mantes-
tation of her simple faith and devotion-the
unquestioning faith she placed in his love. 1t
had needed but brief intercourse to rlpen
friendship into that tenderer sentiment OF
which Elsie had at first scarcely dared to
think. He himself had removed her doubts,
her fears; he had told her that he loved her,
and the overpowering joy of knowing this
made her forget or overlook all the drawbacks
which existed to the expediency of such an
attachment. Elsie, having a taste for roman
tic literature, had read in novels and poems
of lowly maidens being espoused to noble
lords and high-born gentlemen, and it seemed
to her now as if she herself had become the
heroine of one of these idyls. Affection as
deep and unquestioning as hers, could scarcely
fail to win in return deeper and truer regard
than Charles would, perhaps, otherwise have
felt for her. He had met her by hazard the
day after his arrival with Horace at the inn,
been struck by her appearance, and found
means to introduce himselfto her notice, think
ing that filtration with such pretty girl
would be pleasant variety to the amusement
of which they had come in quest; but ne soon
began to discover that what he had underta'
ken as mere pastime promised to be much
more serious affair than he had at first con-
templated He was diverted by the diScove-
ry, then provoked blamed his own folly, and
finally began to weigh in his mind the most
proper measures for him to take under the
circumstances.


"Why should I not marry her?" he even
went so far as to ask himself, more than once.
"She adores me, and she is really beauty
I do not see that I need be ashamed Of her as
a wife. Plenty of men marry beneath them,
and raise their wives to their own level in So
ciety. If did marry her, nobody should
dare to say word against her. The folks at
home would be angry, suppose, and the
governor would make precious row at first,
because they all expect me to marry Elinor
Hollingwood; but they'd get over all that
when once they had seen her. Elinor was
not pretty bit, as I recollect her-salow and
lanky, with sharp elbows and frocks always
too short for her, and as stiff as poker-just
as different from Elsie as scarecrow is from
a daisy. And I'd take Elsie to the Continent
and polish her up there a little bit before 60
ing home there is not particle of coarseness
or ill breeding about her, only she hasn't So
ciety manners, exactly. The fact is, am
awfully spooney about her; never saw girl
1 liked so much before. I've great mind to
do it, and astonish the weak minds of my re-
lations! 1t would be very shabby to 60 off
now and leave the poor little thing, after get
ting her so madly in love with me. 1t would
be unprincipled I really don't think ought
to do it,


Principle was, unfortunately, not always the
ruling motive of Charles conduct; but when
it went hand in hand with inclination, he was
ready to listen to its voice. Naturally selfish
and irresolute, he was prone to seize on the en-
joyment of the present, without much regard
to consequences, and to delay as long as pos
sible the ful6llment of any unpleasant duty,
which he was not able altogether to shirk.
In his first acquaintanceship with Elsie, he
had chosen to keep the knowledge of it Sc
cret, because, intending only to amuse him
self for little while, he thought it would be
a bore to have either Horace or Elsie's friends
become cognizant of it; the former would
blame him, the latter might interfere and put
q stop to it altogether; and even after ne
began to entertain more serious thoughts re-
gardng her, his characteristic love of put
ting off made him reluctant to take any de-
cided steps in the matter. In fact he was by
no means, sure of his own mind at one mo-
ment he condemned his folly, and almost re-
solved to break it of by leaving the place at
once; at the next, the recollection of Elsies
charms and her devotion to him would entire
ly revolutionize his feelings, and bring him to
the determination to marry her, cost what it
might.


At last, troubled at the long continuance of
the secresy which had become so oppressive
to her, Elsie ventured to ask him why she
might not tell her mother of their attachment.


Charles, little embarrassed, evaded the
question by asking, in turn, why she wished
her mother to know.


u\Vhy C,ho rlao % (Ha had insisted on her