a dark, dreary bachelorhood; success, the crowning of his dearest
hopes.

He found his sweetheart at home, and she came down to greet him with
roses that he had sent her in her bosom. It was not easy for him to do
or say anything extravagant, and Emily Vincent, while she might have
pardoned unseemly effusiveness to his exceeding love for her, was well
content with the deeply earnest though unriotous expression of his
passion. When finally he had folded her in his arms she felt that the
greatest happiness existence can give was hers, and he knew himself to
be an utterly blissful lover. He had won the prize for which he had
striven with a pertinacity like Jacob's, and life looked very roseate.

The news was broken to her family that evening, and received
delightedly, though without the surprise which the lovers expected.
They were left alone for a little while before the hour of parting,
and in the sweet kisses given and taken Gorham redeemed himself in his
mistress's estimation for any lack of folly he had been guilty of when
he had asked her to be his wife. There was riot now in his eyes and in
his embraces, revealing that he had needed only to be sure of her
encouragement to become as ridiculous as she could desire. He stood
disclosed to himself in a new light; and when he had kissed her once
more for the last time he went tripping down the lawn radiantly happy,
turning now and again to throw back with his fingers a message from
his lips to the one being in all the world for him, who stood on the
threshold, adding poetry and grace to the beautiful June evening.

When out of sight of the house, Gorham sped fleetly along the road. He
intended to walk to town, for he felt like glorying in his happiness
under the full moon which was shedding her silver light from a clear