“And don’t you _really_ care about it?” said Archie. “Let me look in your eyes, Sophy, and see if you are in earnest—if you really do not care.” “No, indeed, I _do not_,” said Sophy, looking in Archie’s face with a smile which spoke entire truth. “I should not care if he had married all the girls in Brookville.” “You thought differently once,” said Archie, “and I am not sure, Sophy, that you will care to hear an old story of true love over again, after the last talk we had on the subject.” “Oh, Archie! will you never forget that foolish business!” exclaimed Sophy, bursting into tears. “People forgive easier than they forget, sometimes,” said Archie; “and I can’t, for my life, forget any thing that concerns you. I may be mistaken, but I think, that, after Philip Greyson, you care more for me than any one else; and now that he is married—” Sophy answered him with a glance, which told a whole story of penitence, and a world of reproach. “And if you think I could make you happy, as I would try to do, dear Sophy,” he continued, “why then, perhaps, you wont object to go back to Brookville, and live with me at the ‘old place,’ and take grandfather and grandmother with you, hey, Sophy?” Poor Sophy was crying so heartily, from a mingled feeling of joy and sorrow, that she could not answer, and so Archie proceeded. “I have been very fortunate this last year. I suppose, because I had nothing to draw me off from business, and have been able to buy the place from Mr. Wilson. I will put it in good order again, and we shall be _so_ happy there—shan’t we, Sophy, darling? But you don’t speak.” “Because I am so happy that I have no words to tell it,” replied Sophy, smiling through her tears. “But will you really forgive all my foolishness and vanity, dear Archie? And shall we really go back to Brookville; to the ‘old place’—and with _you_, too? Oh! it seems like a blessed dream.” “A dream that will last, I hope,” said Archie, “and pay us for all the sorrow we have had the past year—for you haven’t been sad alone, Sophy; I have thought of you, and loved you just the same; and longed to come and tell you so, often and often, only I thought if you did like Phil Greyson best—” “Please don’t name him again,” said Sophy. And Archie, nothing loth to discard a disagreeable topic, promised—I believe with a kiss—that he would not. Unfortunately for grandmother Middleton’s little jobs, Sophy found the time pass so rapidly that she quite forgot them—since Archie stayed all the afternoon, while his poor horse stood, kicking off the flies, at the garden-gate—wondering it may be, at his master’s unusual delay, or sudden love of gossiping.