I have thought since, that if this truth were plainer seen and more firmly held, by those whom it concerns--many false notions about honour, pride, self-respect, would slip off; many uneasy doubts and divided duties would be set at rest; there would be less fear of the world and more of God, the only righteous fear. People would believe more simply in His ordinance, instituted "from the beginning"--not the mere outward ceremony of a wedding; but the love which draws together man and woman, until it makes them complete in one another, in the mystical marriage union, which, once perfect, should never he disannulled. And if this union begins, as I think it does, from the very hour each feels certain of the other's love--surely, as I said to Max--to talk about giving one another up, whether from poverty, delay, altered circumstances, or compulsion of friends, anything in short except changed love, or lost honour--like poor Penelope and Francis--was about as foolish and wrong as attempting to annul a marriage. Indeed, I have seen many a marriage that might have been broken with far less unholiness than a real troth plight, such as was this of ours. After a little more "preaching," (a bad habit that I fear is growing upon me, save that Max merely laughs at it, or when he does not laugh he actually listens!) I ended my letter by the-earnest advice, that he should go and settle in Canada, and go at once; but that he must remember he had to take with him one trifling incumbrance--me. When the words were written, the deed done, I was a little startled at myself. It looked so exceedingly like my making _him_ an offer of marriage! But then--good-bye, foolish doubt! good-bye contemptible, shame! Those few tears that burnt my cheeks after the letter was gone, were the only tears of the sort that I ever shed--that Max will ever suffer me to shed. Max loves me! His letter in reply I shall not give--not a line of it. It was only _for me_. So that being settled, the next thing to consider was how matters could be brought about, without delay either. For, with Max's letter, I got one from his good friend Mrs. Ansdell, at whose house in London he had gone to lodge. Her son had followed his two sisters--they were a consumptive family--leaving her a poor old childless widow now. She was very fond of my dear Max, which made her quick-sighted concerning him, and so she wrote as she did, delicately, but sufficiently plainly, to me, whom she said he had told her was, in case of any sudden calamity, to be sent for as "his dearest friend." My dear Max! Now, we smile at these sad forebodings; we believe we shall both live to see a good old age. But if I had known that we should only be married a year, a month, a week,--if I had been certain he would die in my arms the very same day--I should still have done exactly what I did.