And now, in the warm glow of a pleasant evening, just before dew-fall, Charley Vining was leading his fair betrothed along alley after alley, her light dress rustling from time to time among the first-fallen leaves. Hours upon hours they had spent alone together during her return to health; but never till this eve had Ella felt so great a tremor as that which now pervaded her frame. Was it that his eyes had spoken more eloquently than usual? She could not say; but now that he halted by the tree from which a rose had once been plucked, and led her to the garden-seat, there was no resistance, and she suffered him to draw her to his side closer, closer, closer still, till her fair hair mingled with his crisp curls, and her soft breath played upon his cheek. "My own," he cried softly, but in tremulous tones, "six months have passed now since I made you a promise." "Yes," she whispered, as her hands rested upon his shoulder; and she nestled closer to his broad breast, dove-like in the gentleness and aspect of seeking protection where she knew she would be safe. "I have kept the promise," he said again. "Yes," she replied, "to forgive, as we hope to be forgiven." There was silence then for a few moments before he spoke again. "And now," he said, "I claim my reward. Ella dearest, my own, can you forgive my weakness, my doubts, my boyish folly?" "Forgive?" she said; and as she gazed up in his face there was a look of proud joy before her eyes sank, and her head drooped, blushing before his loving glance. "I was weak, I own, mad; but tell me, Ella dearest. I have been patient." His voice was low as he pressed her still closer to his heart. "Tell me," he said, "tell me when;" and his voice had sunk to a whisper. "Charley--husband," she whispered, raising her eyes once more to his, "I am yours--when you will!" Volume 3, Chapter XXVII. THE REWARD OF MERIT--BAI JOVE! People will talk, and the more you try to regulate your life by their opinions, the worse you will fare. Vide "The Old Man and his Ass." They said it was too bad that the heir to Blandfield Court should be married in London; but whether too bad or no, in the course of the autumn Charles Vining and his lady were announced as having departed for the Continent after a particular ceremony at Saint George's, Hanover-square; a church where the wedding-fees must amount to something tolerably respectable in the course of the year; while, if at any time it should be announced that the clerk, beadle, and pew-opener all have country houses at Sydenham, Teddington, or some other pleasant spot a few miles from Babel smoke, and give champagne dinners, the writer, for one, will feel no surprise; though a feeling of envy may spring up in his breast the next time he encounters the gorgeous beadle sunning himself upon the broad steps of the sacred fane.