Lottie's head bowed as low and reverently as his and for several moments neither spoke. Then he turned, and took her hand as he said: "Many have wished you a 'happy new year' before, but I can scarcely think that any one ever meant the words as I do. Miss Lottie, I would do anything, suffer anything, and give up anything, save honor and duty, to make you happy. You have often laughed at me because I carried my thoughts and feelings in my face. Therefore, you know well that I love you with all the truth and strength of which I am capable. But I have had a great dread lest my love might eventually make you unhappy. You know what my life will be, and duty will never permit me to change." Her answer was very different from what he expected. Almost reproachfully she asked, "Mr. Hemstead, is earthly happiness the end and aim of your life?" "No," he said, after a moment. "What then?" "Usefulness, I trust,--the doing faithfully the work that God gives me." "And must I of necessity differ from you in this respect?" "Miss Lottie, forgive me. I am not worthy of you. But can it be possible that you are willing to share in my humble, toilsome life? I fear you have no idea of the hardships and privations involved." "I stood by you faithfully last night in the storm, did I not?" she said, with a shy, half-mischievous glance. "It seems too good to be true," he said, in a low tone. "Was there ever such a diffident, modest creature!" she said, brusquely. "Mr. Hemstead, you will never ENTER Heaven. The angels will have to pull you in." "One angel has made a heaven of this dreary place already," he answered, seeking to draw her to him. "Wait a moment; what do you mean, sir? I have made you no promises and given you no rights." "But I have made you no end of promises, and given you absolute right over me. My every glance has said, 'Lottie Marsden, I am yours, body and soul, so far as a man with a conscience can be.'" "All this counts for nothing," said Lottie, with a little impatient stamp of her foot. "I promised that dear old meddler, Uncle Dimmerly, that you, in deep humility and penitence for having arrogantly assumed that you could be a missionary and I couldn't, should ask me to be a home missionary; and you have wasted lots of precious time." He caught her quaint humor, and, taking her hand and dropping on one knee, said: "Lottie Marsden, child of luxury, the prize which the proudest covet, will you leave your elegant home,--will you turn your back upon the world which is at your feet,--and go with me away to the far West, that you may become a poor, forlorn home missionary?" "Yes, Frank, in your home; but never forlorn while I have you to laugh at, and never poor while I possess your big, unworldly heart." "Have I any rights now?" he exclaimed; and, springing up, he exercised them to a degree that almost took away her breath.