home every night by the steam cars. As he sat in the car that evening
waiting for the train to start, two gentlemen in the seat behind fell to
conversing about a new book on mental physiology, embodying the latest
discoveries. They kept up a brisk talk on this subject till Henry left
the car. He could not, however, have repeated a single thing which they
had said. Preoccupied with his own thoughts, he had only been dimly
conscious what they were talking about. His ears had taken in their
words, but he had heard as not hearing.

After tea, in the gloaming, he called, as usual, on Madeline. After a few
casual words, he said, gently--

"Madeline, you remember you promised to marry me a few weeks ago. I have
not hurried you, but I want you now. There is no use in waiting any
longer, dear, and I want you."

She was sitting in a low chair, her hands folded in her lap, and as he
spoke her head sank so low upon her breast that he could not see her
face. He was silent for some moments waiting a reply, but she made none.

"I know it was only for my sake you promised," he said again. "I know it
will be nothing to you, and yet I would not press you if I did not think
I could make you happier so. I will give up my business for a time, and
we will travel and see the world a little."

Still she did not speak, but it was to some extent a reassurance to him
that she showed no agitation.

"Are you willing that we should be married in a few days?" he asked.