this I may say: they both believed, (as every enamored couple
believes,) that, though other people might cherish the properest
affection for each other, yet no man or woman ever did or could
experience such intense and all-pervading emotion as now throbbed in
their breasts,--in fact, that they had been created to exemplify the
passion, which, before, poets had only imagined. Simple children! they
had only found out what hearts are made for!


CHAPTER XV.

The last picture was a pleasant relief in a rather sombre story,
therefore we prefer to commence a stormier scene in a new chapter.
Mark and Mildred were sitting cozily by the ample fireplace,--not at
opposite corners, you may believe,--when there was a warning _ahem!_
at the door, and the sound of feet "a-raspin' on the scraper." Mr.
Alford entered and said, "Milly, your step-mother's team is comin' up
the road." In a moment there was a bustle in the house, but before any
preparation could be made the carriage was at the gate, and Mrs.
Kinloch, accompanied by Squire Clamp, knocked at the door.

"Milly, you go into the kitchen with Mrs. Alford," said the farmer.
"I'll attend to matters for them."

"No, Mr. Alford," she answered; "you are very good, but I think I'll
stay and see them. Shan't I, Mark?"

Mrs. Kinloch and the lawyer entered. She had left off her mourning,
but looked as pale and thoughtful as ever. After the common
courtesies, brief and cool in this case, Mrs. Kinloch made known her