“So I may! oh, God bless you, Sophie, it took just _you_ to think of that! though you may not be as sensible as mother, or as brilliant as Hagar—yet you are better. I wish the comparative had been _good_er than _either_ of them! anything that is to make anybody happy, dear Sophie! I shall not leave it to ‘who knows’ and ‘perhaps,’ I shall beg uncle to get me appointed to his ship, if he can—where is he? I am going to him! in the meantime consider me enlisted for this Northern bridal cruise,” and off he went to seek Captain Wilde. I leave it to any gentleman or lady present whether it was in Captain Wilde’s power just that day to look rationally, sensibly, coldly, upon a young lover’s passion. “Why, Gusty, my boy,” he said, “you know very well that I have very little influence; however, I will exert that in procuring your appointment to my ship, and Gusty, in the meantime come on with us and remain until you receive orders somewhere. Rosalia is a treasure, and if I had the power of bestowing her, I do not know to whom I could give her with so much pleasure as yourself. But you must wait, Gusty, for a year or two—you are both somewhat too young to think of this marriage yet a while.” “Why, uncle, this ‘wait’-ing might be endurable if the time were passed with you all, and in daily company of Rosalia, to be sure.” This arrangement was finally concluded. And Emily, who loved Rosalia, and preferred her above all others as a future daughter-in-law, readily consented to forego the society of her son for the present, merely saying— “_When_ you marry, if you ever marry Rosalia, you must bring her home here and leave her with me while you are at sea, Gusty, and that is the only condition upon which I can consent to part with you, Gusty, for this term.” Of course Gusty consented and promised. * * * * * “And so, my little dove-eyed darling is scarcely out of school, before she is betrothed—do you know the meaning of your vows, my little love?” asked Sophie, very seriously, the same afternoon as Rosalia nestled on a stool at her feet. And Rose dropped her blushing face in the lap of Sophie, and was silent. “Do you?—tell me, Rose?” “Dear Sophie, I had rather not get married—only, you know, poor Gusty, it would be a pity to hurt his feelings!” “You child!” “But, Sophie, I am not—not betrothed, as you suppose—no indeed, I gave no positive answer until I could hear what you would have to say.” “You did not!” said Sophie, suddenly. “Oh, then, my dear Rose, I beg—I entreat that you will bind yourself by no rash vows now—wait—you are heart-whole yet—wait—Gusty is going on with us—you will see more of him—he of you—and you will both find out whether you are fitted for each other. Will you promise me not to engage your hand ever without my consent, Rose?” “Dear Sophie, to be sure I will—I never once thought of doing otherwise.”