Let us now return to our present hero and the lady of his dreams. In consequence of the state of affairs Captain Edward Travers prolonged his stay at the Vicarage another ten days, during which time the youthful pair took daily walks about the grounds we have already described. In the evening they sat indefatigably together, and to judge by the absence of conversation when in the house, I should say they must have exhausted all topics of interest during their morning strolls, for they literally appeared to have nothing to say to each other. I confess to quite a feeling of relief, as I watched the phaeton drive through the large front gates of the Vicarage, _en route_ for the railway station, bearing the young officer away. I hoped that absence would _not_ in this case, “make the heart grow fonder,” but that Evelyn would permit her better judgment to influence her, and perceive she was on the eve of committing an irretrievable folly. I was confirmed in this opinion, on observing the blank look of surprise, even mortification, on her mobile countenance, as she perused her first love letter, an event usually so delightful to a young girl, and then, without a word, placed the interesting missive in the hands of her mother. That lady, it appeared, was decidedly a friend to the absent. She glanced over the letter, exclaiming, as she read it:— “Dear fellow; how he loves you, Evelyn. See how his hand trembled from excitement; the writing is almost illegible.” And so, in very truth, was it, and horribly ill-spelled, if that too, be a symptom of the tender passion. The letter, however, commenced, “My darling Evelyn,” and ended, “Yours for life.” Now, let me ask you young ladies of sweet sixteen, would not your pretty little heads have been slightly turned, if you had for the first time in your lives, been thus addressed by a good-looking, rich young officer, with real moustaches? And this too, even though the orthography of the epistle might have been somewhat defective. My heroine, though full of intelligence, somewhat lacked that invaluable quality—plain, common sense. Nor was she in any way above the faults and weaknesses of her age and sex. Let not my readers then be surprised if she permitted her own charity, and the writer’s evident attachment, to “cover a multitude of (_grammatical_) sins.” One thing was self-evident from the tone of the gallant captain’s correspondence, namely: that he considered Evelyn as his _fiancée_, and wrote as an accepted suitor.