what did you say to him, Susan?”

“I said nothing, mother.”

“Nothing, dear!”

“No, mother; not a word.  He told me he didn’t want it.”  She forgot how she had used his Christian name in bidding God bless him.

“Oh dear!” said the widow.

“Was it very wrong?” asked Susan.

“But what do you think yourself, my child?” asked Mrs. Bell after a while.  “What are your own feelings.”

Mrs. Bell was sitting on a chair and Susan was standing opposite to her against the post of the bed.  She made no answer, but moving from her place, she threw herself into her mother’s arms, and hid her face on her mother’s shoulder.  It was easy enough to guess what were her feelings.

“But, my darling,” said her mother, “you must not think that it is an engagement.”

“No,” said Susan, sorrowfully.

“Young men say those things to amuse themselves.”  Wolves, she would have said, had she spoken out her mind freely.

“Oh, mother, he is not like that.”

The daughter contrived to extract a promise from the mother that Hetta should not be told just at present.  Mrs. Bell calculated that she had six weeks before her; as yet Mr. Beckard had not spoken out, but there was reason to suppose that he would do so before those six weeks would be over, and then she would be able to seek counsel from him.

Mr. Beckard spoke out at the end of six days, and Hetta frankly accepted him.  “I hope you’ll love your brother-in-law,” said she to Susan.

“Oh, I will indeed,” said Susan; and in the softness of her heart at the moment she almost made up her mind to tell; but Hetta was full of her own affairs, and thus it passed off.

It was then arranged that Hetta should go and spend a week with Mr. Beckard’s parents.  Old Mr. Beckard was a farmer living near Utica, and now that the match was declared and approved, it was thought well that Hetta should know her future husband’s family.  So she went for a week, and Mr. Beckard went with her.  “He will be back in plenty of time for me to speak to him before Aaron Dunn’s six weeks are over,” said Mrs. Bell to herself.

But things did not go exactly as she expected.  On the very morning after the departure of the engaged couple, there came a letter from Aaron, saying that he would be at Saratoga that very evening.  The railway people had ordered him down again for some days’ special work; then he was to go elsewhere, and not to return to Saratoga till June.  “But he hoped,” so said the letter, “that Mrs. Bell would not turn him into the street even then, though the summer might have come, and her regular lodgers might be expected.”

“Oh dear, oh dear!” said Mrs. Bell to herself, reflecting that she had no one of whom she could ask advice, and that she must decide that very day.  Why had she let Mr. Beckard go without telling him?  Then she told Susan, and Susan spent the day trembling.  Perhaps, thought Mrs. Bell, he will say nothing about it.  In such case, however, would it not be her duty to say something?  Poor mother!  She trembled nearly as much as Susan.

It was dark when the fatal knock came at the door.  The tea-things were already laid, and the tea-cake was already baked; for it would at any rate be necessary to give Mr. Dunn his tea.  Susan, when she heard the knock, rushed from her chair and took refuge up stairs.  The widow gave a long sigh and settled her dress.  Kate O’Brien with willing step opened the door, and bade her old friend welcome.

“How are the ladies?” asked Aaron, trying to gather something from the face and voice of the domestic.

“Miss Hetta and Mr. Beckard be gone off to Utica, just man-and-wife like! and so they are, more power to them.”

“Oh indeed; I’m very glad,” said Aaron—and so he was; very glad to have Hetta the demure out of the way.  And then he made his way into the parlour, doubting much, and hoping much.

Mrs. Bell rose from her chair, and tried to look grave.  Aaron glancing round the room saw that Susan was not there.  He walked straight up to the widow, and offered her his hand, which she took.  It might be that Susan had not thought fit to tell, and in such case it would not be right for him to compromise her; so he said never a word.

But the subject was too important to the mother to allow of her being silent when the young man stood before her.  “Oh, Mr. Dunn,” said she, “what is this you have been saying to Susan?”

“I have asked her to be my wife,” said he, drawing himself up and looking her full in the face.  Mrs. Bell’s heart was almost as soft as her daughter’s, and it was nearly gone; but at the moment she had nothing to say but, “Oh dear, oh dear!”

“May I not call you mother?” said he, taking both her hands in his.

“Oh dear—oh dear!  But will you be good to her?  Oh, Aaron Dunn, if you deceive my child!”

In another quarter of an hour, Susan was kneeling at her mother’s knee, with her face on her mother’s lap; the mother was wiping tears out of her eyes; and Aaron was standing by holding one of the widow’s hands.

“You are my mother too, now,” said he.  What would Hetta and Mr. Beckard say, when they came back?  But then he surely was not a wolf!

There were four or five days left for courtship before Hetta and Mr. Beckard would return; four or five days during which Susan might be happy, Aaron triumphant, and Mrs. Bell nervous.  Days I have said, but after all it was only the evenings that were so left.  Every morning Susan got up to give Aaron his breakfast, but Mrs. Bell got up also.  Susan boldly declared her right to do so, and Mrs. Bell found no objection which she could urge.

But after that Aaron was always absent till seven or eight in the evening, when he would return to his tea.  Then came the hour or two of lovers’ intercourse.

But they were very tame, those hours.  The widow still felt an undefined fear that she was wrong, and though her heart yearned to know that her daughter was happy in the sweet happiness of accepted love, yet she dreaded to be too confident.  Not a word had been said about money matters; not a word of Aaron Dunn’s relatives.  So she did not leave them by themselves, but waited with what patience she could for the return of her wise counsellors.

And then Susan hardly knew how to behave herself with her accepted suitor.  She felt that she was very happy; but perhaps she was most happy when she was thinking about him through the long day, assisting in fixing little things for his comfort, and waiting for his evening return.  And as he sat there in the parlour, she could be happy then too, if she were but allowed to sit still and look at him,—not stare at him, but raise her eyes every now and again to his face for the shortest possible glance, as she had been used to do ever since he came there.

But he, unconscionable lover, wanted to hear her speak, was desirous of being talked to, and perhaps thought that he should by rights be allowed to sit by her, and hold her hand.  No such privileges were accorded to him.  If they had been alone together, walking side by side on the green turf, as lovers should walk, she would soon have found the use of her tongue,—have talked fast enough no doubt.  Under such circumstances, when a girl’s shyness has given way to real intimacy, there is in general no end to her power of chatting.  But though there was much love between Aaron and Susan, there was as yet but little intimacy.  And then, let a mother be ever so motherly—and no mother could have more of a mother’s tenderness than Mrs. Bell—still her presence must be a restraint.  Aaron was very fond of Mrs. Bell; but nevertheless he did sometimes wish that some domestic duty would take her out of the parlour for a few happy minutes.  Susan went out very often, but Mrs. Bell seemed to be a fixture.

Once for a moment he did find his love alone, immediately