There was a bottle of Madeira standing upon the table and as he announced his determination of "doing any thing for the sake of Mary Howard," his eye fell upon his favorite beverage. A deep blush mounted to his brow, and a fierce struggle between his love for Mary and his love for the wine-cup ensued. The former conquered, and seizing the bottle he hurled it against the marble fire jamb, exclaiming, "I'll be a _man_, a sober man, and never shall the light of Mary's eyes grow dim with tears wept for a drunken husband!" Henry was growing eloquent, and lest the inspiration should leave him, he sat down and wrote to Mary, on paper what he could not tell her face to face. Had there been a lingering doubt of her acceptance, he would undoubtedly have wasted at least a dozen sheets of the tiny gilt-edged paper, but as it was, one would suffice, for _she_ would not scrutinize his handwriting,--_she_ would not count the blots, or mark the omission of punctuating pauses. She would almost say _yes_ before she read it. So the letter, which contained a sincere apology for his uncivil treatment of her in former years, and an ardent declaration of love for her now, was written sealed, and directed, and then there was a gentle rap upon the door. Jenny wished to come in for a book which was lying upon the table. Henry had resolved to keep his family ignorant of his intentions, but at the sight of Jenny he changed his mind,--Jenny loved Mary, too. Jenny would be delighted at the prospect of having her for a sister, and would help him brave the storm of his mother's displeasure. "Jenny," said he, grasping at her dress, as she passed him on her way from the room, "Jenny, sit down here. I want to tell you something." Jenny glanced at the fragments of the wine bottle, then at her brother's flushed face, and instantly conjecturing that he had been drinking, said reproachfully, as she laid her soft, white hand on his brow "Oh, brother, brother!" He understood her meaning, and drawing her so closely to him that his warm breath floated over her cheek, replied, "I'm not drunk, for see, there is no scent of alcohol in my breath, for I have sworn to reform,--sworn that no drop of ardent spirits shall ever again pass my lips." The sudden exclamation of joy, the arms thrown so affectionately around his neck, the hot tears upon his cheek, and the kisses that warm-hearted sister imprinted upon his lips should have helped him to ratify that vow. But not for her sake had it been made, and shaking her off, he said, "Don't make a fool of yourself, Jenny, I wasn't in any danger of disgracing you, for I was only a moderate drinker. But really, I do want to talk with you on a very important subject. I want to ask who of all your acquaintances you would prefer to have for a sister, for I am going to be married."