"Enough--I will marry them!" he said firmly. "I only wish the young man may prove worthy of all this--" His soliloquy was cut short by the appearance of Jameson and his friend. They were married--Florence Hurst, the only daughter and heiress of the richest merchant in New York, to Jameson, the protegee and book-keeper of her proud father. They were married, and they were left alone in that picturesque old country-house. And now, strange to say, Florence grew very sad; and as Jameson sat by her, with one hand in his, and circling her waist with his arm, she began to weep bitterly. "Florence, Florence--how is this! why do you weep, beloved?" "I do not know," said the bride, gently; "but since the good clergyman has left us, my heart is heavy, and I feel alone." "Do you not love me, Florence? Have you lost confidence in me?" Florence lifted her eyes, shining with affection, and placed her hand in his. "But this secrecy troubles me. Let us tell my father at once," she said, earnestly. "But I have promised, shall I break a pledge, and that to the man of God who has just given you to me forever and ever. Florence?" "Surely his consent may be obtained. He said nothing of concealment to me." "And did you talk with him?" questioned Jameson, maintaining the same tone in which his other questions had been put, but with a certain sharpness in it. "A little. He questioned me of the motives which induced my father to oppose our marriage." "And that was all?" "Yes; you came in just then, and the rest seems like a dream." "A blessed, sweet dream, Florence, for it made you my wife," said Jameson. Still Florence wept. "And now," she said, lifting her eyes timidly to his, "let us return to the city; while this secrecy lasts I must see you only in the presence of my father." "Florence, is this distrust--is it dislike?" cried Jameson, startled out of his usual self-command. "Neither," said Florence, "you know that. You are certain of it as I am myself. But I am your wife now, Herbert, and have both your honor and my own to care for. My father has no power to separate us now, so that fear which seemed to haunt you ever is at rest. But it is due to myself, to him, and to you, that when you claim me as your wife, he should know that I am such, though he may not approve." Florence said all this very sweetly, but with a degree of gentle firmness that seemed the more unassailable that it was sweet and gentle. Before he could speak she withdrew herself from his arm, and glided from the room. When quite alone, Jameson fell into an unpleasant reverie, from which her return in the black silk dress, with a bonnet and shawl on, aroused him.