"Oh, Charles! I only went out to take a message to the cottage. And she knows I might have been back in ten minutes. Indeed I must make haste in."

He opened his umbrella, which he had with him, for rain had been threatening all the morning; and, causing her to take his arm, held it over her. She walked timidly: it was the first time she had ever taken it and the moment they came within view of the house, she relinquished it.

"Susan, what's that for?"

"Don't you see mamma at the window?" she faltered.

"Yes; and I see that she is looking at us. Come, Susan, take courage a few minutes more, and she will know that it is all as it should be."

Mr. Carnagie laid hold of her hand, intending to make it again a prisoner; but Susan drew it away, and started off in the rain, leaving him and his umbrella in the distance.

She bounded into the hall, panting. Her mother came and met her. Mr. Carnagie was not far behind.

"Susan, where ever have you been?" exclaimed Mrs. Chase, motioning her into the sitting-room. "What has detained you?"

Of course she had no excuse to offer, and she murmured something unintelligible: Mrs. Chase only caught the word “rain.”

"Rain! you could not have waited for that. It has only just commenced. Where is it that you have been, Susan?"

"I believe I detained her, Mrs. Chase," spoke up young Carnagie. "I was coming in here, and met her, and we have been walking in the covered walk.'

Politeness kept Mrs. Chase silent. But she did not allow her daughters to walk with young men, either in covered walks or uncovered ones, and she mentally prepared a lecture for Susan.

"Susan has been making me a promise," resumed Mr. Carnagie, folding and unfolding a piece of paper, which he took up from the table. "Not to go out walking with you again, I hope," hastily interposed Mrs. Chase. "For I cannot sanction it."

"Not precisely that. Mrs. Chase, she has promised to be my wife." Mrs. Chase was taken entirely by surprise. A complaint on the chest, from which she suffered constantly, caused her to be much confined at home, rarely, if ever, to accompany her daughters in their walks or evening visits, therefore she had seen little of the progress of the intimacy. Susan sat down on the sofa, and drooped her face, and nervously played with her untied bonnet strings.

"Conditionally, of course," added Mr. Carnagie: "that you have no objection. I trust you will have none, Mrs. Chase."

"Dear me! this is very sudden," was all that lady could find to utter. "My family-I believe you know-are of great respectability; and I possess a few thousands besides my commission. I will try to make her happy, Mrs. Chase."

"I have heard you highly spoken of by Sir Arthur, Mr. Carnagie. But still-you must allow me to consider of this before giving a final answer."

"Oh, certainly. I did not expect anything more. If you will kindly

not take too much time," he added, "for I believe there will be little time to spare."

"I do not understand you," said Mrs. Chase.

"I had a letter from Drake, of ours, this morning, and he tells me there's a rumour that we are to be sent off to the West Indies."

"And you wish for the answer before you go. That is natural. You shall have it."

66

"My dear Mrs. Chase-I wish for her before I go. I must take her with me."

"Take-are you speaking of Susan ?" uttered the astonished Mrs.

Chase.

"Of course I am. Several of our officers are married men, and their wives will accompany them out."

"If Susan were older I would not say you nay: only three or four years older."

"I cannot go without Susan. I never could endure to leave her behind me, with nothing more binding between us than an engagement: I might have to stop out there for years, before I could get leave to come home and claim her. Dear Mrs. Chase, if you are satisfied with me in other respects, you must give your consent to our being married directly." "Mr. Carnagie! Do you know Susan's age?"

"Yes. Eighteen. And you," he added, with a half smile, "were seventeen when you married. I heard you say it."

Mrs. Chase looked vexed. "True; that was my age," she answered: "and it is that very fact which has set me against early marriages for my children. They are most pernicious.-Susan, where are you going? Stay and hear what I have to say: it is now fitting that you should. Sit down again. I have scarcely enjoyed a day's health since I married, Mr. Carnagie. My children came on fast, many of them-worry, noise, bustle, toil! oh, you don't know the discomfort and I almost made a VOW that my daughters should not marry till they were of a proper age." "May I inquire what you would call a proper age?" he asked, suppressing a smile.

"Well-I think the most proper and the best age would be about five-and-twenty. But certainly not until twenty was turned."

"Susan wants only two years of that. Dear Mrs. Chase, I must plead that you change your resolution in her case. Were I stationary in England, and could occasionally see her, it might be different. I must take her with me."

"You are not sure of going."

"No, I am not. Drake thought"

"We will not discuss it further now," interrupted Mrs. Chase. “You have nearly startled me out of my sober judgment."

"Very well. May I come in to-morrow morning?"

"If

time."

you like. I will then say yes, or no: but without reference to the

"Now mind, Susan," he snatched a moment to whisper, "if she, if your mother still holds out, and vows we must wait an indefinite number of years, we will not wait at all, but just elope, and settle it that way. It's most unreasonable. I can't wait for you, and I won't."

Susan smiled faintly. She was not one of the eloping sort.

The morning came. Mrs. Chase had resolved to accept Mr. Carnagie,

finding that Susan's "mind," as she called it, was set upon him; and indeed there was no reason why she should not: but when Mr. Carnagie came, she found there was something else to be settled. He had received a summons to join his regiment, which was then quartered in Ireland, and also a positive, though not official notification, that it was ordered to the West Indies, and would be away in two months. Now, was Susan to go with him, or not? Mrs. Chase said no, he said yes: and after much standing out on both sides, and some slight indication of relenting on hers, they somehow came to the conclusion that Susan should decide. "My dear, decide prudently," cried Mrs. Chase. "Think well over all the fatal objections I have pointed out. Prudence, darling, decide bravely," cried he; "don't be afraid.

mind!"

"Susan,

Think how happy

we shall be together!" And poor Susan, amid a rush of colour, and a flood of tears, decided To Go.

"Oh dear!" groaned Mrs. Chase, "there will be no time to get you suitable wedding things, Susan."

"No time!" echoed Mr. Carnagie. "I could get an outfit made and packed in three days, and Susan has double as many weeks. I should think she might buy up half the shops in Great Britain, in that time."

Mr. Carnagie made the best of his way to Ireland, and Susan made the best use of her hands and energies in preparing for her change of prospects. In seven weeks they were to be married, and in eight to sail. Mr. Carnagie had interest with his colonel, and had no doubt of obtaining another short leave of absence. During this time Mrs. Chase had Susan's likeness taken to console them, she said, when Susan should be gone. It was a good likeness, but it flattered her. Susan wrote a merry account of this to Mr. Carnagie.

One day, when Susan's friend, Frances Maitland, had came in to help her with some delicate work, she began speaking of the disposition of Mr. Carnagie.

"Susan, tell me : do you believe he is calculated, altogether, to make you happy?"

"Is there any reason why he should not be ?" was Susan's answer. "He is so fearfully passionate."

"Who says so ?" demanded Susan, in a tone of resentment.

"Oh, he is. Ask the Ashleys. There was something up, about a dog. It was when Charles Carnagie was stopping there. He completely lost all self-control, and rushed to his room for his sword. Bessy met him on the stairs; he was brandishing it, and looking like a madman. She there was an awful scene. Arthur declares he never saw so violent a temper."

says

"Charles must have been greatly provoked," remarked Susan. "He provoked himself, I believe. However, Susy, it is your own look out. I'm sure I don't want to set you against him. Marriage is a lottery at the best: for richer for poorer, for better for worse.' will soon have to say that, you know."

You

Susan Chase had not soon to say it. The time of the wedding drew on, and on the day previous to that fixed for it, Lieutenant Carnagie arrived at Stopton, having obtained his leave of absence. Mrs. Chase's house was at some distance from it, but it was a fine, frosty morning, and he set out to walk.

He had come nearly in view of the house when he met a funeral. It startled Mr. Carnagie considerably, for surely it had come from the very house he was bound to. There were only some half-dozen cottages besides, that the road led to, just there, and that style of funeral was not likely to come from a poor cottage. He vaulted over a gate by the roadside, and peeped at it through the hedge: a hearse and several carriages. When it had passed, he came forth again, leaned over the gate, and gazed after it. Some children drew near, slowly following the sight in awe, gazers like himself.

"Who is dead?" he inquired of them.

taken to be buried ?"

"Mrs. Chase, sir."

"Who is it that is being

"Mrs. Chase!" he uttered, horror-stricken. "What did she die of?" The children did not know. Only that "she had died because she was ill."

"Can you inform me what Mrs. Chase died of?" the young officer repeated, for a woman now came up. "Was it any accident?"

"No, sir, no accident. She has been ailing a long time, some years, and she got suddenly worse at the last, and died," was the woman's answer, who evidently did not know Mr. Carnagie. "It was so quick, that her sons did not get here in time to see her, nor the little miss that was at school."

He was terribly shocked, almost unable to believe it.

"When did she die ?"

"On Tuesday, sir. Four days ago.

"Are they not burying her very soon?"

"Well, sir, the funeral was first fixed for to-morrow-I know all about it, you see, because I have been in there, since, helping the servants. But to-morrow, Saturday, was to have been Miss Susan Chase's weddingday, and I b'lieve she couldn't bear the idea, poor thing! of the funeral's taking place on it-what was to have been so different. Then the next day was Sunday, and some of the family did not like that day, and one of the sons was obliged to be back at his college on Monday. So they settled it for to-day."

Stunned with the news, Mr. Carnagie turned back. There seemed an indelicacy in his going to the house at that moment, and he waited till the afterpart of the day, and went then. A servant showed him into a darkened room, and Susan came to him.

He thought she would have cried herself ill. Her emotion was pitiable. He clasped her in his arms, and she lay there and sobbed aloud, quite hysterically, like a child cries. She could give him but little more information than had previously been imparted. Their dear mother's complaint had taken an unfavourable turn, and had carried her off, almost without warning. One of her brothers, Susan said, had written to him on the Tuesday night, after it happened. Mr. Carnagie had left Ireland before the letter got there.

"Susan," he whispered, when she was a little calmer, "must this entail a separation on us?"

She looked at him, hardly understanding.

"Must we wait? Must I sail without you?"

"Charles, that is almost a cruel question," she said, at length. "How

4

could you ask it?

cold in her grave?

Would have me marry you
A year, at any rate, must pass over."

my

"It may be much longer than that. I shall not get leave so readily again. Oh, Susan! this is a hard trial."

copper,

"It is the will of God," she sighed, "and we must bear it." "I shall not bear it patiently. I shall get marrying one of the half-caste natives, out of defiance, or something as desperate. Fancy what it will be condemned to vegetate by myself in that stifling climate, and you some millions of miles away!"

Susan was silent, pained at the tone of the remark, and at that moment a girl of fifteen opened the door and looked in; wearing deep mourning, like herself.

"Come in, Emma, darling," she fondly said, drawing her sister towards her. "This is Mr. Carnagie, who was to have been so nearly

related to us to-morrow. Charles," she added, reason, I must have stayed to protect this child. bequeathed her to me."

66

were there no other My mother specially

Emma Chase, who bore a resemblance to her sister Susan, felt a restraint in that stranger's presence, and she silently withdrew.

"Well, this is a gloomy prospect for us, Susan," resumed Mr. Carnagie, who could not get over his disappointment. "It is no joke what I say that it may be years before I can come to fetch you."

She raised her eyes to his, in all the expression of their trusting confidence. "No matter how many, Charles, you will find me waiting for

you."

"But it is hard, for all that."

"Do you think-pray forgive me if I suggest anything wrong, or unpleasing that if you were to return at once to your duty, without taking the leave granted you now (except the time occupied in travelling, which cannot be avoided), that they would be more inclined to allow it you when you next ask? It is an idea that has occurred to me."

"Perhaps so. It is not a bad notion. But, Susan, I would rather spend it with you."

"We are so sad just now," she murmured- "all the house."

There was something in her tone which seemed to convey an intimation that his presence might not be acceptable to that house of sorrow; or at least Mr. Carnagie fancied so. And he did think her suggestion of going back to his duty was a good one.

"Then, Susan, I think I had better make up my mind to leave you, and start back this very night."

"It may be better," she answered, the tears standing in her eyes. "And in another year, my darling, if all's well, I trust I shall come and claim you.'

"I trust so," she whispered.

He had in his pocket her wedding-ring, which he had bought as he came through Liverpool, and he drew it forth, and slipped it on her finger; on the one he ought to have slipped it on, in the church, on the morrow. "There, Susan; now that binds you to me. Let it stop there till-till I take it off to put it on again.”

"Not on that finger," she remonstrated, her pale cheek flushing.