Poor papa! it must have reminded him of his own young days--I have heard he was very fond of his first wife, Harry's mother--for when I hung about his neck, mine were not the only tears. He held out his hand to Max. “Doctor, I forgive you; and there is not a man alive on whom I would so gladly bestow this little girl, as you.” And here Max tried me--as I suppose people not yet quite familiar will be sure to try one another at first. Without saying a word, or even accepting papa's hand, he walked straight out of the room. It was not right--even if he were ever so much unnerved; why should he be too proud to show it? and it might have seriously offended papa. I softened matters as well as I could, by explaining that he had not wished to ask me of papa till a week hence, when he should be able fully to enter into his circumstances. “My dear,” papa interrupted, “go and tell him he may communicate them at whatever time he chooses. When such a man as Doctor Urquhart honestly comes and asks me for my daughter, you may be sure the very last question I should ask him, would be about his circumstances.” With my heart brimful at papa's kindness, I went to explain this to Max. I found him alone in the library, standing motionless at the window. I touched him on the arm, with some silly coquettish speech about how he could think of letting me run after him in this fashion. He turned round. “Oh, Max, what is the matter? Oh, Max!--” I could say no more. “My child!”--He soothed me by calling me that and several other fond names, but all these things are between him and me alone.--“Now, good-bye. I must bid you good-bye at once.” I tried to make him understand there was no necessity--that papa desired to hear nothing, only wished him to stay with us till evening. That indeed, looking as wretched as he did, I could not and would not let him go. But in vain. “I cannot stay. I cannot be a hypocrite. Do not ask it. Let me go--oh! my child, let me go.” And he might have gone--being very obstinate, and not in the least able to see what is good for him or for me either--had it not fortunately happened that, overpowered with the excitement of the last ten minutes, my small strength gave way. I felt myself falling--tried to save 'myself by catching hold of Max's arm, and fell. When I awoke, I was lying on the sofa, with papa and Mrs. Gran-ton beside me.. Also Max--though I did not at first see him. He had taken his rights, or they had been tacitly yielded to him; I do not know how it was, but my head was on my betrothed husband's breast. So he stayed. Nobody asked any questions, and he himself explained nothing. He only sat by me, all afternoon, taking care of me, watching me with his eyes of love--the love that is to last me my whole life. I know it will. Therefore, in the evening, it was I who was the first to say, “Now, Max, you must go. “You are quite better?” “Yes, and it is almost dark--it will be very dark across the moors. You must go.”