Yet every word fell on his heart coldly as drops of winter rain, and he felt a mad impatience to thrust away the soft hands and the golden head and to avert his face from the fair one upturned in such tender pleading. He asked himself impatiently how he had ever fancied himself in love with his beautiful, artful cousin. Suddenly she held up her white hand before his face. “Do you miss anything?” with tender archness. “No, I do not,” carelessly. “Oh, Laurie, my ring! I have missed it so much! Please let me have it back again.” He was so agitated himself he did not notice how her voice trembled and her eyes drooped as she spoke; he was seeing again a blushing, mignonne face, with dark-fringed lashes sweeping to a crimson cheek, as he slipped Lelia’s diamond on a dear little, tremulous hand. My God, was he never to hold that little hand again, never to gaze on that exquisite face until he met her in the Great Beyond among the radiant angels? “My ring, please, Laurie dear,” Lelia murmured again, and, rousing himself, he muttered: “The ring? I--oh, yes, Lelia, you shall have another as soon as I go to town; but--but I have lost that one.” He was startled when she faltered, tenderly: “You must buy two rings this time, please, dear Laurie--another diamond as big as the one you lost, and--and a plain gold one--my wedding-ring.” “A wedding-ring!” he started, and recoiled like one stung. “Yes, Laurie dear, for I have one dear wish that I am ashamed almost to breathe aloud. I want to be your wife, Laurie, very soon; for, oh, I have been so frightened when I had so nearly lost you that I cannot ever be quite happy again until you are mine tight and fast, bound by the wedding-ring! Oh, Laurie, will you humor my fancy, because I love you so? Will you ride into Lewisburg to-morrow for the rings, and the license, and the minister; and let us be quietly married to-morrow evening in the parlor, with no guests but just our family?” pleaded Lelia, winding her white arms about his neck and pressing her warm, red lips to his own. If it had been a blow instead of a caress Laurie could not have recoiled more sharply, or answered more bitterly: “You shall have your own way, Lelia.” CHAPTER XXIV. HAUNTED. Lelia was ready to weep with chagrin and mortification at Laurie’s cold reception of her tender advances. He did not go into raptures as a lover ought to do when his darling sets the wedding-day; he did not offer her the slightest caress, he only said in that cold, bitter voice of weary resignation: “You shall have your own way, Lelia.” Furious with chagrin and wounded pride, she would have liked to rate him soundly for his reluctance and indifference. But she did not dare. The beautiful shrew had found out that she could not indulge her violent temper with impunity. Her meek slave had rebelled, the trampled worm had turned and stung her foot. She had learned discretion at most bitter cost.