near the grave, the moon, appearing from behind a cloud, showed me the form of a woman leaning against the tree. She wore no bonnet, nothing but a shawl thrown over her head. Her face was turned from me, but I knew those features, even in the indistinct moonlight, and my heart gave a sudden leap, as I pressed eagerly forward. She turned in affright, half screamed, half ran, then, recognizing me, remained still as a statue. "Mr. Allen, you here? I thought you were gone," she said, at last.

"Jane, you here?” said I. "You ought not; the night is damp; you will get sick."

Nevertheless, I went on talking, told what had detained me, described my journey and visit, and inquired after her family, as if I had been a month absent. I never talked so easily before; for I knew she was not looking in my face, and forgot how my voice might betray me. I spoke of my mother, of how much she was to me, of my utter loneliness, and even of my plans for the fu

ture.

"But I am keeping you too long," I exclaimed, at last; "this evening air is bad; you must go home."

I

I walked along with her, up through the garden, and along the road towards her house. I did not offer my arm, for I dared not trust myself so near. The evening wind was cool, and I took off my hat to let it blow upon my forehead, for my head was hot and my brain in a whirl. We came to a stop at the gate, beneath an apple-tree, then in full bloom. think now that my mind at that time was not exactly sound. The severe mental discipline which I had forced upon myself, the long striving to subdue the strongest feelings of a man's heart, together with my real heart-grief at my mother's death, were enough, certainly, to craze any one. I was crazy; for I only meant to say "Good-bye," but I said, "Good-bye, Jane; I would give the world to stay, but I must go." I thought I was going to take her hand; but, instead of that, I took her face between my

own two hands, and turned it up towards mine. First I kissed her cheeks. "That is for the pink,” I said. Then her eyes. "And that is for the blue. And now I go. You won't care, will you, Jane, that I kissed you? I shall never trouble you any more; you know you will never see me again. Good-bye, Jane!"

I grasped her hand tightly and turned away. I thought I was off, but she did not let go my hand. I paused, as if to hear what she had to say. She had hitherto spoken but little; she had no need, for I had talked with all the rapidity of insanity. She tried to speak now, but her voice was husky, and she almost whispered.

"Why do you go?" she asked. "Because I must, Jane," I replied. "I must go."

"And why must you go?" she asked. "Oh, Jane, don't ask me why I must go; you wouldn't, if you knew".

There I stopped. She spoke again. There was a strange tone in her voice, and I could feel that she was trembling all over.

"Certainly not," she replied. "How can I, when you have never asked me?" “Jane,” said I, and my voice sounded strange even to myself, "I hope you are not trifling; you never would dare, did you know the state I am in, that I have been in for—oh, so long! But I can't have hidden all my love. Can't you see how my life almost is hanging upon your answer? Jane, do you love me, and will you be my wife?"

"Henry," she replied, softly, but firmly, "I do love you. I have loved you a long, long time, and I shall be proud to be your wife, if you think me worthy." It was more than I could bear. The sleepless nights, the days of almost entire fasting, together with all my troubles, had been too much for me. I was weak in body and in mind.

"Oh, Jane!" was all I could say. Then, leaning my head upon her shoulder, I cried like a child. It didn't seem childish then.

“Oh, but, Henry, I won't, then, if you feel so badly about it," said she, half laughing. Then, changing her tone, she begged me to become calm. But in vain. The barriers were broken down, and the tide of emotion, long suppressed, must gush forth. She evidently came to this conclusion. She stood quiet and silent, and at last began timidly stroking my hair. I shall never forget the first touch of her hand upon my forehead. It soothed me, or else my emotion was spent; for, after a while, I became quite still.

"Oh, Jane," I whispered, "my sorrow I could bear; but this strange happiness overwhelms me. Can it be true? Oh, it is a fearful thing to be so happy! How came you to love me, Jane? You are so beautiful, and I-I am so

"You are so good, Henry!" she exclaimed, earnestly,-"too good for me! You are a true-hearted, noble soul, worthy the love of any woman. If you weren't so bashful," she continued, in a lower tone, "I should not say so much; butdo you suppose nobody is happy but

I could not answer; so I drew her close up to me. She was mine now, and why should I not press her closely to my heart,

that heart so brimful of love for her? There was a little bench at the foot of the apple-tree, and there I made her sit down by me and answer the many eager questions I had to ask. I forgot all about the dampness and the evening air. She told how her mother had liked me from the first, how they were informed, by some few acquaintances they had made in the village, of my early disappointment, and also of the peculiar state of mind into which I was thrown by those early troubles; but when she began to love me she couldn't tell. She had often thought I cared for her, mentioned the day when I found her at my mother's bedside, also the day of the funeral; but so well had I controlled my feelings that she was never sure until that night.

"I trust you will not think me unmaidenly, Henry," said she, looking timidly up in my face. "You won't think worse of me, will you, for- for almost offering myself to you?"

There was but one answer to this, and I failed not to give it. 'Twas a very earnest answer, and she drew back a little. Her voice grew lower and lower, while she told how, at my shaking hands the night before, she almost fainted, — how she longed to say "Stay," but dared not, for I was so stiff and cold: how could she say, "Don't go, Mr. Allen; please stay and marry me"?-how she passed a wretched night and day, and walked out at evening to be alone,-how she felt that she could go nowhere but to my mother's grave,- and, finally, how overwhelmed with joy she was when I came upon her so suddenly.

All this she told me, speaking softly and

slowly, for which I was thankful; for I liked to feel the sweet words of healing, dropping one by one upon my heart.

In the midst of our talk, we heard the front-door of the house open.

"They are coming to look for me," said Jane. "You will go in ?"

Hand in hand we walked up the pathway. We met Ellen half-way down. She started with surprise at seeing me. "Why, Mr. Allen!" she exclaimed, "I thought you a hundred miles off. Why, Jane, mother was afraid you had fallen down the well."

She tripped gayly into the house. "Mother!" she called out,-" you sent me for one, and I have brought you two.”

Jane and I walked in hand in hand; for I would not let her go. Her mother looked surprised, but well pleased.

"Mrs. Wood," said I, "Jane has asked me to stay, and I am going to."

Nothing more was needed; our faces told the rest.

"Now Heaven be praised," she replied, "that we are still to have you with us! I could not help thinking, that, if you only knew how much we cared for you, you would not have been in such a hurry to leave us." And she glanced significantly towards Jane.

The rest of the evening was spent in the most interesting explanations. I passed the night at the village inn, as I had intended, passed it, not in sleep, but in planning and replanning, and in trying to persuade myself that "Pink and Blue" was my own to keep.

of the furniture I had given away, by giving new in exchange, the old being dearer to both Jane and myself,—and, finally, that our wedding should be very quiet, and should take place as soon as Jane could be got ready. Through it all I sat like one in a dream, assenting to everything, for everything seemed very desirable.

As soon as possible, I reopened my house, and established myself there with the same little servant. It took Jane about a month to get ready, and it took me some years to feel wholly my own happiness.

The old house is still standing; but after Mrs. Wood died, and Ellen was married, we moved into the village; for the railroad came very near us, cutting right through the path "across the field." I had the bodies of my father and mother removed to the new cemetery.

My wife has been to me a lifelong blessing, my heart's joy and comfort. They who have not tried it can never know how much love there is in a woman's heart. The pink still lingers on her cheek, and her blue eye has that same expression which so bewitched me in my younger days. The spell has never been broken. I am an old man and she is an old woman, and, though I don't do it before folks, lest they call us two old fools, yet, when I come in and find her all alone, I am free to own that I do hug and kiss her, and always mean to. If anybody is inclined to laugh, let him just come and see how beautiful she is.