“Neither, thank you; it’s only a girlish fancy, which will soon be forgotten. Does the baron love Helen?” asked Amy, abruptly. “Desperately, and she?” “I think he will be happy; she is not one to make confidantes, but I know by her tenderness with me, her sadness lately, and something in her way of brightening when he comes, that she thinks much of him and loves Karl Hoffman. How it will be with the baron I cannot say.” “No fear of him; he wins his way everywhere. I wish I were as fortunate;” and the gay young gentleman heaved an artful sigh and coughed the cough that always brought such pity to the girl’s soft eyes. She glanced at him as he leaned pensively on the low wall, looking down into the lake, with the level rays of sunshine on his comely face and figure. Something softer than pity stole into her eye, as she said, anxiously,— “You are not really ill, Sidney?” “I have been, and still need care, else I may have a relapse,” was the reply of this treacherous youth, whose constitution was as sound as a bell. Amy clasped her hands, as if in a transport of gratitude, exclaiming, fervently,— “What a relief it is to know that you are not doomed to—” She paused with a shiver, as if the word were too hard to utter, and Sidney turned to her with a beaming face, which changed to one of mingled pain and anger, as she added, with a wicked glance,— “Wear spectacles.” “Amy, you’ve got no heart!” he cried, in a tone that banished her last doubt of his love and made her whisper tenderly, as she clung to his arm,— “No, dear; I’ve given it all to you.” Punctual to the minute, Major Erskine marched into the _salon_, with Mrs. Cumberland on his arm, exclaiming, as he eyed the four young people together again,— “Now, ladies, is it to be ‘Paradise Lost’ or ‘Regained’ for the prisoners at the bar?” At this point the astonished gentleman found himself taken possession of by four excited individuals, for the girls embraced and kissed him, the young men wrung his hand and thanked him, and all seemed bent on assuring him that they were intensely happy, grateful and affectionate. From this assault he emerged flushed and breathless, but beaming with satisfaction, and saying paternally,— “Bless you, my children, bless you. I hoped and worked for this, and to prove how well I practise what I preach, let me present to you—my wife.” As he drew forward the plump widow with a face full of smiles and tears, a second rush was made, and congratulations, salutes, exclamations and embraces were indulged in to every one’s satisfaction. As the excitement subsided the major said, simply,— “We were married yesterday at Montreaux. Let me hope that you will prove as faithful as I have been, as happy as I am, as blest as I shall be. I loved this lady in my youth, have waited many years, and am rewarded at last, for love never comes too late.”