"Come, now, come; you know this was of your own choice." There was a pause. "I never thought it would be so hard to go," she said at length. He smiled feebly, and tried a more rallying tone. "You are not going for life. You will come back safe and happy." The words thrilled her through and through. Her clasped hands trembled visibly, and her fingers clutched them with a convulsive movement. After awhile she was calmer, and said quietly: "No, I'll never come back--I know that quite well." And her head dropped on her breast and she felt sick at heart. "I'll have to say good-bye to everything. There were Betsy Jackson's children--I kissed them all this morning, and never said why--little Willy, he seemed to know, dear little fellow, and cried so bitterly." The memories of these incidents touched to overflowing the springs of love in the girl's simple soul, and the bubbling child-voice was drowned in sobs. The man stood with a smile of pain on his face. He came close, and brushed away her tears, and touched her drooping head with a gesture of protestation. Mercy regained her voice. "And then there's your mother," she said, "and I can't say good-bye to her, and my poor father, and I daren't tell him--" Hugh stamped on the path impatiently. "Come, come, Mercy, don't be foolish." The girl lifted to his the good young face that had once Been bonny as the day and was now pale with weeping and drawn down with grief. She took him by the coat, and then, by an impulse which she seemed unable to resist, threw one arm about his neck, and raised her face to his until their lips all but touched, and their eyes met in a steadfast gaze. "Hugh," she said, passionately, "are you sure that you love me well enough to think of me when I am gone?--are you quite, quite sure?" "Yes, yes; be sure of that," he said, gently. He disengaged her arm. "And will you come and fetch me after--after--" She could not say the word. He smiled and answered, "Why, yes, yes." Her fingers trembled and clung together; her head fell; her cheeks were aglow. "Why, of course." He smiled again, as if in deprecation of so much child-like earnestness; then put his arm about the girl's shoulder, dropped his voice to a tone of mingled compassion and affection, and said, as he lifted the brightening face to his, "There, there--now go off and make ready." The girl brushed her tears away vigorously, and looked half ashamed and half enchanted. "I'm going." "That's a good little girl." How the sunshine came back at the sound of his words! "Good-bye for the present, Mercy--only for the present, you know." But how the shadow pursued the sunshine after all! Hugh saw the tears gathering again in the lucent eyes, and came back a step. "There--a smile--just one little smile!" She smiled through her tears. "There--there--that's a dear little Mercy. Good-day; good-bye."