can you not comprehend that he is too proud to do so?”

“Too proud! By my word! It is a new hearing that a Howe should be too proud to seek an alliance with a Berners!” exclaimed old Bertram hotly, rising from his chair.

“Old age ne’er cooled the Douglas blood,”

and it had not cooled his.

Sybil smiled to see how utterly he had misunderstood her, and making him sit down again, she said,

“You dear old darling, it is not that! It is the very opposite to that. It is because he is poor and we are rich, and he is too proud to be called a fortune-hunter.”

“Oh, I understand! I understand!

“Yes, dear father, that is just the truth. You wish me to marry; but, dear, dear father, I can never bring myself to marry any one but him; and he loves me truly, but does not seek me?” she breathed in a low and tremulous tone, half smothered also by the hands with which she covered her blushing face.

“Now what am I to do in this case? I have nothing against the young man whatever, except his poverty and big long line of poor relations, that will be sure to be a burden to him!” grumbled old Bertram to himself.

“But, father, we are so rich! We have enough for so many people,” pleaded Sybil.

“Not enough to enrich all the Howes, my dear! But I like the young man, I really do like him, and if he had more money, and less relations, I should prefer him to any young man in the neighborhood for a son-in-law.”

“O father, dear father, thank you, thank you for saying that,” exclaimed Sybil, fervently kissing his hands.

“And now that you have told me your mind, what do you want me to do, my darling?” he inquired, returning her caresses.

“Oh, dear father! an old man like you must know! I do want you to give Lyon help and encouragement as you know best how to do it, without wounding his pride. You sympathize with his political principles; let him know that you do. You admire his character; let him feel that you do.”

“What else?”

“This. Since old Mr. Godwin died you have had no agent for your large estate, and its accounts must be falling into disorder, Lyon is a lawyer, you know. Offer him the agency of your estate, with a liberal salary.”

“Upon my word, I never thought of that before. Here for three months I have been thinking whom I could get as an agent, and much as I esteemed that young man I never once thought of applying to him! But the fact is, I never looked upon him in the light of a business man, but only as a brilliant barrister, and eloquent pleader.”

“Yet, father, you know he must be a good business man to have collected such great stores of statistics as he has always at command.”

“Well, my love, I will go to-day and offer him the agency. Now what next?”

“He was too poor and too proud to come before, but as your agent, father, you must bring him often to the house on business.”

“And then?”

“You must leave the rest to me.”

Thus it was that the young lawyer became the agent for the great Black Valley Manor. This agency included not only the management of the revenues from several rich farms, but also those from the stone quarries, iron mines, and the water mill at the head of the valley, and also from the real estate in the village at the foot, all of which was included in the Black Valley Manor.

The new agent was frequently called to Black Hall, where he was always received with the utmost courtesy. And as the acquaintance between the proprietor and the agent ripened into intimacy, a deep and strong attachment grew between them.

“Youth never showed itself wiser or better than in this young man,” murmured Mr. Berners to himself.

“Age was never so venerable and beautiful as in this old man,” thought John Lyon Howe to himself.

The old man loaded the young one with many marks of his esteem and affection. The young man returned these with the warmest gratitude and highest reverence.

When John Lyon Howe, with his heart filled with love for Sybil Berners, first entered Black Hall, it was without the slightest suspicion of her responsive love for him. But when they were thrown so much together, he was not very long in making the discovery so delightful to his soul, and yet—so trying too! for, as a man of good principles, there seemed to be but one course left open to him—the course of self-denial! He loved the great heiress, and had unintentionally won her love! Therefore he must fly from her presence, trying to forget her, hoping that she might forget him.

He summoned up courage for the sacrifice, and went into the study of his employer and in a few words told him that he had come to say good-bye.

The astonished old man looked up for an explanation.

John Lyon Howe gave it to him.

“And so you wish to leave me, never to return to the Hall, because you love my daughter.”

The young man bowed in silence; but could not conceal the misery it caused him to make this acknowledgment.

“But why should that oblige you to leave the house?” inquired Mr. Berners.

“Oh, sir! can you ask?” exclaimed Mr. Howe.

“Oh, I see! the little witch has refused you!” exclaimed old Bertram with a twinkle in his eye. “Come, is it not so?”

“Sir, I have never abused your confidence so far as to seek her hand! I could not make so base a return for your kindness to me.”

“Oh, you have never asked her to marry you! How in the world, then, can you know whether she will accept you or not? or, consequently, whether it will be necessary for you to leave or not?”

“Oh, sir! what is it that you would say?” exclaimed the young man, in quick, broken tones, while his face turned pale with agitation.

“Nonsense, my boy! When I was young a youth didn’t require so much encouragement to woo a maiden. Before you make up your mind to leave me, go and ask Sybil’s consent to the step.”

“Oh, sir! oh, Mr. Berners! do you mean this?” gasped the young man, catching at the back of the chair for support. He was inured to sorrow, but not to joy. And this joy was so sudden and overwhelming that he reeled under it.

“I mean what I say, Mr. Howe. I esteem and respect you. I sanction your addresses to my daughter,” said old Bertram, speaking with more gravity and dignity than he had before displayed.

John Lyon fervently kissed his old friend’s hand, and went immediately in search of Sybil. And that same night, old Bertram had the pleasure of joining their hands together in solemn betrothal.

“And now I can die happy,” said the old man, earnestly; “for it was not another great fortune, but a good husband that I coveted for my darling child.”

Ten days from this night, old Bertram Berners dropped into his last sleep. He was well and happy up to the last hour of his life. The “Wave of Death,” found him in his arm-chair, and bore him off without a struggle to the “Ocean of Eternity.” So old Bertram Berners was gathered to his fathers.

The year of mourning was permitted to pass, and then John Lyon Howe, having, according to the conditions of the marriage contract, assumed the name and arms of Berners, was united in marriage to the beautiful Sybil. And they set out on their bridal tour as Mr. and Mrs. Lyon Berners.

And now we will again look in upon them as they linger over their tea-table in the old inn at Norfolk, where we first introduced them to our readers.