“Augusta!”—and this time the hand on her shoulder shook—“Augusta—dear Augusta, once on this very spot I found you weeping thus, and I begged to be allowed to share your grief. I told you I would give my life to serve you—what I said then I repeat now—I _would_ give my life to serve you, and you _know_ it!” He gently drew one hand from her agitated face. “Tell me your trouble, as you would tell it to a brother!” A brother—ah, that was it! She drew her hand back, but she did not rise, and her sobs seemed to choke her. Again he took her hand, and his other arm went round her soothingly, protectingly. “Oh, Augusta, this is inexpressibly painful to me. I love you, as never man loved woman. Can you not tell me what troubles you?” and the earnest tenderness of his voice made strange music in her ears. He had seated himself on the narrow window-ledge beside her, and now he thought she was about to punish his presumption and quit him haughtily as before. But no! She only slid from his arm to his very feet, and cried, with still covered face— “Oh, Jabez—_dear_ Jabez, forgive me all I made you suffer here; for oh! I have repented bitterly.” He was stunned, bewildered. His passionate declaration of love was made as a claim to her confidence, not to her affection; and now—“_dear_ Jabez!” Did he hear aright? For an instant he was silent from very incapacity to speak. Her bent head touched his knees. Slowly, reverently, as if she had been a saint, with every nerve of his strong frame trembling with emotion, he raised her from the ground; but no arm went round her now. He held both her hands in his, and looked steadfastly down upon her; but no answer made he to her plea for pardon. Constraint in voice and words was apparent and painful, but emotion grew too strong for control. “Augusta, what is the meaning of this? For God’s sake do not mislead me! I seem on the threshold of heaven or madness. Is it possible that I, plain Jabez Clegg, can be ‘dear’ to you?” “Dearer than life!” Clear, full, and earnest came the words from her soul, clear and truthful were the eyes that now sought his. “Thank God!” He held her in his arms with a straining clasp, which told how long they had quivered to embrace her so. His eyes lit up with an intensity of love she knew not he could feel, and never had his lips met woman’s in such fond kisses as he pressed on hers. The concentrated love of years seemed gathered to a focus then. “Life of my life!” he called her, and she knew and felt it was so. If the shade of the departed Ellen could have looked upon them there, remembering how she had rushed to his embrace in that very spot, and how different had been the kiss imprinted on her wifely brow, would she have reproached him? I wis not.