“Yes, Earle, I used to wish that you were my _brother_ in those days; but when I bade you good-by that afternoon after your trial, it came to me that it was no sisterly feeling that I entertained for you, but something deeper, stronger, and more sacred.” “My darling,” he cried, fairly trembling beneath the weight of his great happiness, and yet scarcely able to credit what he heard, “you _would_ not say this if you did not _mean_ it—you would not allow me to grasp this hope and then let it _fail_ me?” She lifted her clear eyes to his. “Earle, do you think I could love you all these years and then trifle with the affection which is the most precious gift Heaven ever sent to me?” she asked, with grave sweetness. “No, no; and yet for the moment my brain almost reeled—it did not seem possible that such joy could be really meant for me, after what I have suffered,” he returned, with a deep breath of thankfulness that was almost a sob, as he drew her tenderly into his arms and laid the golden head upon his breast. “It was cruel, _so_ cruel,” she murmured, with trembling lips; “I know I shall never be able to realize all you have suffered, Earle, but not a day passed that my heart did not cry out in rebellion against your fate.” “It is all past now, my own; let us not live it over again; and the joy you have given me to-day will brighten all the future,” he said, laying his lips reverently against the shining hair that crowned the head upon his breast. “Can it be possible,” he added, after a few moments of silence, “that you would have pledged yourself to me last Christmas—to _me_ only a few hours out of prison, after serving a _convict’s sentence_?” She laid her hand upon his lips as if to stay the hateful words. “The fact of your having suffered unjustly for the crime of another only made me love you the more tenderly—I regarded you just as worthy of my affection then as you will ever be,” Editha returned, gravely. “God ever bless you for those words, my darling! And you will be my wife, Editha, some time when——” “I _will_ be your wife, Earle,” she interrupted, not allowing him to finish his sentence, for she knew what he was about to add. “But suppose I should never succeed in finding those rascals who committed the robbery—suppose the doubt must ever rest upon me?” he persisted. “It will make no difference, Earle. _You_ know you are innocent; _I_ know it! why then need we make ourselves miserable over what the world may say or think?” “And you do not care—you will never be troubled or ashamed if others scorn me and give me the cold shoulder?” he asked, astonished. “Nay, dear,” she said, with a smile that had something of sadness in it; “I cannot say that I do not care, for I would like every one to honor you, even as I honor you, and I feel assured that they will yet do so; meanwhile we will be as happy as we can be. _Ashamed_ of you I can _never_ be—please do not allow such a thought to enter your mind again.”