leading now. She could not be any more wretched than she was, and
she might perhaps be happier when the worst was over and she knew
for certain that she was Richard's wife. HIS WIFE! It made her
faint and sick just to say those two words. What then would the
reality be? She loved him dearly as a guardian, a brother, and she
might in time love him as her husband. Such things had been. They
could be again. Aye, more, they should he, and determining
henceforth to keep her own counsel, and suffer Victor to believe
it was Grace instead of herself, she ran into the garden, where
she knew Richard was walking, and stealing to his side, caught his
arm ere he was aware of her presence.

"Darling, is it you?" he asked, and his dark face became
positively beautiful with the radiant love-light shining out all
over it.

Every day the hope grew stronger that the cherished object of his
life might be realized. Edith did not avoid him as he feared she
would. On the contrary she rather sought his society than
otherwise, never, however, speaking of the decision. It was a part
of the agreement that they should not talk of it until the four
weeks were gone, the weeks which to Richard dragged so slowly,
while to Edith they flew on rapid wing; and with every rising sun,
she felt an added pang as she thought how soon the twelfth of May
would be there. It wanted but four days of it when she joined him
in the garden, and for the first time since their conversation
Richard alluded to it by asking playfully, "what day of the month
it was?"

"The eighth;" and Edith's eyes closed tightly over the tears