20

smote him that he had not made a proffer of his own services.

"After all," said he to himself, "it is well I did not. I should not have learned her present position, and might have suffered my feelings to have passed beyond my control."

The morning wore heavily away. He thought of visiting the haunts of his former years, but they no longer held out any charms. He was standing in the rude piazza of the inn, and giving indulgence to thoughts far more melancholy than were wont to occupy his mind, when Bolton, who happened to be passing, stopped, and having scanned his features for a moment, asked, "Didn't I use to know you?"

"I presume you did," said Marshall. "You have altered greatly, but not for the worse: how do you do?"

"I am very well," said Marshall, returning the warm pressure of his toil-hardened hand.

"Well, I am right glad to see you. If you are not busy, walk along with me. My work is waiting for me, or I would stop and talk with you." Marshall cheerfully complied with this request. "You have been pretty much all over the world since you left us?"

"I have been abroad."

I

"I wish you had come home a little sooner. always wanted you to marry our minister's daughter. Last night when they were talking about you-I wonder I did not know you then, but you held the newspaper before your face-and said you would not marry her because your father was rich, I did not say any thing, but thinks I, that is slander-I know him better than that."

"I am much obliged to you for your good opinion."

"I saw a good deal of you when you was a boy, and I can tell pretty well how a boy will be likely to shape himself when he comes to be a man. There is the young minister now, at Mr. Wilson's."

They were now nearly opposite the parsonage. A fine-looking young man, a few years older than Marshall, alighted from his horse, and entered the house without knocking.

"He is a fine fellow," continued Bolton, “but”— he was going to say something more respecting Emily, but he checked himself and said, "How lo do you intend to stay with us?"

"I think I shall leave to-morrow; I have nothing to keep me here."

"I am sorry you make so short a visit. I must see you again. Good morning," and he turned aside to his work.

As Marshall began to retrace his steps, he saw Emily in the garden. She was accustomed to

attend to her flowers whenever her father slept, or a friend called to keep him company. His first impulse was to join her, and his hand was placed upon the fence, when he hesitated. Many reasons suggested themselves for seeing her only in the presence of her father, but they were insufficient. The heart proved too strong for the head. He entered the garden and hastened to her side. She noticed the sadness of his countenance as he approached. It chased away the smile with which she was prepared to greet him. After inquiries respecting her father had been made and answered, conversation languished. They repaired, as before, to the summer-house, but their interview was in strong contrast with that of the former day. Marshall could not bring himself to make direct inquiries respecting the young minister of Charberry. He gave her an opportunity of speaking of him, of which she did not avail herself. Ought she not to be more frank with the friend of her childhood?

"I think I shall leave to-morrow," said Marshall. A start and a half-suppressed exclamation testified her surprise and pain.

'Oh, George," said she, familiarly, her eyes overflowing with tears, "you do not know how much I have suffered since my father has been ill."

"If medical skill or any thing which my means can command will save him, I pray that you will name it. I owe him a vast debt."

“A year ago, travelling might have saved him, but we had not the means. Oh, how my heart has ached as I have seen him failing day after day, and all for lack of the means necessary to his restoration. I never gave up all hope till yesterday."

Why did you not write to me, or to my father?"

"I thought of you. My father said that if it was the will of God that we should travel, the means would be furnished."

"I am very sorry that I did not know his situation. Let me now do all that I can do for you. Confide in me as in a brother: a brother could not feel a deeper interest in your welfare than I do."

"Oh, make no sacrifice for me, I entreat you. What did I ask? I am sometimes almost wild-no relative in the world but my father, and he about to be taken from me!"

Marshall placed himself by the side of the weeping girl, and supported her with his arm, till she dried her tears. "I must not be any longer away from my father," gently removing his arm and rising; "call and sit with us this afternoon. His friend is to stay but an hour or two."

"His friend!" said Marshall, with a look which brought a deep blush over her features.

"Yes, his friend-our friend, I ought to say, for he has been very kind to us."

Your friend?" said he, half reproachfully.

"Not mine, peculiarly."

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her to the bedside, Marshall said, "We desire your consent to our union at a suitable time.'' The father feebly pressed the united hands of the lovers, and turning his face to the wall, wept tears of gratitude and joy.

Emily followed her lover from the room. "Come early in the morning," said Emily, as he was taking his leave.

"Perhaps I may return this evening."

"I fear my father will be too weak for you to see him, or for me to leave him."

"I will try to stay away till morning." Having returned twice or thrice to repeat the parting salute under the screen of the woodbine which shaded the piazza, he made his way to the inn.

It was now pretty generally known throughout the village, that George Marshall had come. After sunset there was quite a gathering at the inn, to meet him. He was in a mood to receive them cordially. Having spent an hour with them, he deemed it necessary, in order to comfortable sleep, to take another view of the parsonage. His friends were not displeased that they were thus left at liberty to exercise their birthright. Some expressed their regret that he had not come a little sooner, and others were confident that he had come just in time. The announcement that he was to spend the summer in the place, gave great satisfaction to all.

"What is he going to do here all summer?" said one. Several guesses were made.

"I tell you what it is," said Bolton, "I have been putting things together, and I guess I have it. Either that young minister has got his walking paper, or there is nothing in your story, landlord. You see if my words do not come true."

22

Marshall, on leaving the bar-room, set out with the purpose of passing the parsonage—peradventure of pausing for a moment to gaze at the window of Emily's apartment. As he drew near, it happened that a figure, clothed in white, stood in the door. There was no moon, and the light of the stars was obscured by clouds; still, the outlines of the form were visible, and earth contained but one such form. It would not do to pass without stopping to do it reverence. The interview at the door, varied by occasional visits of Emily to her father's room to see that he slept, continued until midnight.

Marshall now spent a large portion of his time at the parsonage. "My son," said Mr. Wilson, one day, "it did not occur to me, amid my thankfulness and joy, that I could leave my daughter with one in whom my confidence is so entire, that your father should be consulted in the matter."

"I have not failed to do so," said Marshall, taking from his pocket and reading the following brief and characteristic letter:

"MY DEAR GEORGE: Yours received-I have not time to consider all the points presented, but as you cannot do a foolish thing, you have my full consent to do as you please.

Your affectionate father,

S. MARSHALL."

"I am glad to know that you did not forget your filial duty. Great blessings are connected with its performance. Now that you have your father's consent I am satisfied. I suffered greatly from anxiety in regard to Emily till the night before you came. I was then enabled to cast my burden upon the Lord. And mark, how He orders things! As soon as I rested upon him by faith,|| the provision was made apparent to sense. Now I can wait with patience till my change come."

A day or two after the interview above described, Bolton came to see his young friend. "It may be," said he, with characteristic bluntness, "you will think I am meddling with that which is none of my business, but I can't help it if you do. I must do what I think is my duty. I

watched with the minister last night, and he is failing very fast. Some man ought to be there all the time, and you are the proper one. The fact is, and I may as well say it right out, you ought to be married before the old gentleman dies."

"I have had the same thought," said Marshall, “but I have been unwilling to propose it." "Why so?"

"It may not be agreeable to Miss Wilson." It must be agreeable to her father, for he was always a man of sense, and I do not see how it can well be otherwise than agreeable to her. I would speak to the minister about it if I were you."

"I will commission you to do so."

"I don't know about it-it will be rather awkward work-but I will do it, because it ought to be done."

Bolton went immediately to the parsonage, and in a manner more delicate than could well be expected of him, proposed the matter. As he had anticipated, it was in accordance with the dying father's earnest wishes.

At their next meeting it was evident to Marshall that the matter had been spoken of to Emily. She made some maidenly objections, but yielded to representations of the satisfaction it would give her father to see her under the legal protection of one whom he loved with his whole heart.

The deacons of the church, and a few friends, Bolton among the rest, assembled in the chamber of sickness, soon to be the chamber of death, and the young minister whose name had been falsely connected with Emily, performed the ceremony which rendered the lovers one. Smiles rested not upon the countenances of those present, yet joy was in their hearts.

Mr. Wilson's last earthly wish was now gratified, and he was ready to depart. On the fourth day after the marriage he breathed his last. The smile upon his lips, as he gave the last look to his children, who were bending over him, remained when death had set his seal. All hearts rejoiced that Emily had so noble a supporter as she followed her father to the tomb