"I must escort you a little way back," he at length said; and, accordingly, the two strolled up the garden, hand in hand--she speaking of the lateness of the hour, and he of the loveliness of the moon and stars, until night, moon, and stars, were all forgotten. After a few moments' silence, Jones suddenly paused, and, pressing her hand in both of his, said-- "Marion, I would we might never part. I never leave you without pain." "I know not why it should be so," she said; "but you must just come back the oftener." "Ay," said he; "but even to be absent from you a little while, is torture." "I fear," she said, "you are but a poor philosopher." "Ah," he replied, "philosophy can do many things, but it cannot cure the heartache. O Marion! I love to call you by that name! It is in your power to end all my anxieties: a word--a word will do it! How say you? May I hope? Nay, I do hope; but, may I call you by that name?" "What name?" interrupted Miss Manners, tremulously. "That name, dear heart, which is the tenderest man can bestow on woman?" Her reply was inaudible. Jones, however, kissed her lips, and she forbade him not. On parting, he again kissed her, and returned to his lodgings with feelings of unmixed ecstacy. A few weeks passed--they were weeks of delicious expectancy, of unrestrained intercourse, of active preparation; and the event which was to crown their happiness was duly solemnized. It was a day of great rejoicing in the village; and, as they dashed off on their marriage jaunt, they were honoured with the blessings and cheers of a large crowd of people who had assembled to wish them joy. On returning, a few days afterwards, similar demonstrations of respect awaited them; and they continued to live in the neighbourhood, greatly esteemed and beloved by all who knew them--esteemed for their many virtues, and beloved for their simple and unostentatious manners. One little incident, which happened many years afterwards, is perhaps worth relating. An old man, who had been long unable to work, and to whom Jones had shown much kindness, grasped him one day by the hand, and said-- "Sir, I once struck you on the head with a stone; do you forgive me?" "I do," was the reply; "but you must not do so again." THE SERGEANT'S TALES. THE PALANTINES.[G]