“And what about my tour abroad, mother?” he said, when they were alone after the ceremony. “I do not believe I could bear to stay here when you--are gone away from me! But what shall I do with Nina? She is too young to be really my wife yet, shall I send her to school?” “No,” she answered, “I will tell you what to do, Talbot, send for your maiden aunt in Baltimore to come and live with Nina, secure governesses for her and let her be educated thoroughly. By the time she is sixteen she will be old enough and cultivated enough for you to come home and claim your bride.” He drew a sigh of relief at the respite her plans afforded him. “I will do exactly as you advise,” he said, and he did. The next day he and his child-bride stood to watch the last breath flutter over her gasping lips. She drew Nina close to her side. “Talbot is your husband now, my darling,” she said, anxiously, “you will belong to him always, and he to you. Promise me now that you will give him all your love and all your life, that you will always try to secure his happiness.” “I promise, mamma,” answered the weeping child, and the vow was registered in heaven. She did not ask Talbot for the same promise she had exacted from the simple child, so innocent and ignorant of the world. She did not think it was necessary; she believed implicitly in her son’s faith and honor. And so having ordered their futures so far as lay in her finite power, she passed “to where beyond these voices there is rest.” Talbot carried out her wishes and advice to the letter. He installed his maiden aunt and an accomplished teacher at Selwyn Heights, and when he had done that he went abroad, although Nina clung to him weeping, and besought him not to go. “It is only for a little while,” he said, evasively, “And I shall write to you often, dear. You must be a good girl, Nina, and as soon as I get to New York I will send you back a nice present to remember me by. Will you tell me what you would like to have, dear?” He felt momentarily tender and sorry for the little girl who was grieving so much over his going, but in the next moment he was chagrined and half disgusted for she lifted her wet eyes from his breast and said, with transient brightness: “Oh, if you please, I would like a great big, black Newfoundland puppy, Talbot.” He promised and kept his word, but after that he forgot all about it, almost forgot his child-bride, too, or remembered her only as an incumbrance, for he stayed away five years instead of the three he had at first arranged for, and when at last he came back it was with bitter regret and reluctance.