paused in his walk, and released the firm hold he had kept of my arm, said slowly:

"God waits for man, and angels wait, and I will wait, and you will tell me sometime—say no word to my little mother"—and he kissed my forehead, a tear-drop falling on me from his eyes, and we walked silently and slowly home.

I sought my room, and crying bitterly, said to myself, "Emily Minot must you always do the very thing you desire not to do?"

When my eye met Louis' at the table next morning, I felt as if I had committed an unpardonable sin. My whole being had trembled with the deep respect and admiration I had felt for him since the moment we met, and I certainly had given him cause to understand me to be incapable of responding to his innermost thought. I felt he would treat me differently, but a second look convinced me that such was not the fact. His noble nature could not illtreat any one, and I only saw a look of positive endurance, "I am waiting," photographed on his features, and made manifest in all his manner toward me, and a determined effort to put me at ease resulted at last in forcing me to appear as before, while all the time a sharp pain gnawed at my heart, and, unlike most girls, I was not easy until I told my mother of it all.

She stroked my dark hair and said:

"You and he have only seen nineteen short years. Wisdom is the ripened fruit of years; you cannot judge of your future from to-day."

That comforted me, and I felt better in my mind. I planned something to say to Louis, but every opportunity was lost, and the last week of his stay had already begun. The plans of his little mother had been confided to me, and work had commenced.

There was to be an addition of four large rooms on the west side of our house, and they were planned in accordance with Clara's ideas. She did not call them her's, and started with the understanding that the improvements were just a little present for her dear cousins. Best of all, we were to have a bow window in one of the rooms, and this was something so new, so different, it seemed a greater thing to me than the architecture of the ancient cathedrals. A bow window, and the panes of glass double, yes, treble the size of the old ones!

I heard father say to mother that this new part would make the old one look very shabby; but Louis had told me his mother intended to do all father would allow her to, and encourage him a little, etc. And we were to have a new fence. You cannot imagine how fairy-like this all seemed to me, and I could hardly believe what I saw. It seemed as if we were in a wonderland country, and I had moved as in a dream up to the last hour of my walk with Louis. Then I seemed to awake, as if shaken by a rough hand, and since then I had been striving to appear what I was not, all the time thinking that Louis misunderstood me, and here we were in the last week of his stay and no word as yet in explanation. I had thought it over until it became a truth to me that after all he had not meant that he loved me other than as a sister, and it also seemed to me that was just what I needed. What remained was to have it settled between us, and to do that I must clothe my thoughts with words, else how could he know how I felt. It seemed, too, that it was sheer boldness on my part to dream for a moment that Louis spoke of life's crowning love. He meant to be as a brother to me, and again I sighed, as I stood at the ironing table, "Ah, Emily Minot, you are a born mistake, that's just what you are!" and as I sighed I spoke these words, and, turning, found myself face to face with Louis, who had just come from the village. He never could wait for the stage to come, and had been over as usual for letters.

"The only mistake is that you don't know yourself," he said.

And the tears that had welled up to my eyes fell so fast, and I was so choked, that I turned from work, thinking to escape into mother's bedroom and hide myself; but my eye caught sight of a letter in his hand unopened, and love for Hal rose above all my foolish tears, and so I stood quietly waiting the denouement.

"Come into the other room with me, Emily; I have something to tell you."

He sat down on the little chintz-covered lounge, and I beside him.

"Emily, you are a strong woman, your heart will beat fast, but you will neither scream nor faint when I tell you; your brother is ill. There was a letter in the office and also a telegram at the depot. What will be done, who can go to him?"

I did not scream or faint as he had said, but I clasped my hands tightly and shut my eyes as if some terrible sight was before me, while my poor heart grieved and brain reeled, as I thought, "Oh! he will die, poor Hal! alone among strangers, and how would our patient mother bear it, and what should we do!"

My face was white, I know, for grief always blanched my face and brought those terribly silent tears, that fall like solemn rain drops—each a tongue. You must remember that I was a smothered fire in those days.

Louis put his strong arm around me, and stroked my forehead as if I were a child and he my mother.

"He will not die, little flower, thy brother will live; you must go to him, and I will go with you. You must not go alone to a great city."

"Oh Louis!" I said, "he had only just begun to love me when he went away, and now if he dies, what shall I do without him? Prayers have but little weight, they ought to have saved him, I have prayed so long, so hard, Louis, for his safety. But I must tell mother." And when she heard me, and I said I must go to him, she sat down as if in despair; but a moment after looked almost cheerful as she said:

"You must start to-night, my dear, and I must get all the little medicines I can think of ready for you to take, and as soon as he is able he must come home. If it is a fever, I fear for his lungs."

Clara waited until our talk was over, and then came and said Louis must go with me; put into my hands a well filled purse, and said:

"Bring the brother back, dear cousin; don't wait for him to get well; bring him back on a bed if necessary; he will never get well among strangers."

When father came he was pained beyond expression, and his first thought was for means to do all that must be done.