FALSE AND FAIR.

Constance started up in sudden affright, opened the door into the hall, and looked down the stair-case, where she saw, not her father, but the husband she had offended, mounting slowly toward the room where they usually worked together. His head was bent forward, and he looked dejected.

Constance stepped into the parlor, asked the man on the sofa to excuse her, and, as she spoke, stepped into the hall, closing the door.

"Oh! is it you, Constance?" said Sterling, wearily, as the fair young creature stood in his way, half frightened, half smiling. "So eager, too; never fear, you shall have the money. I have almost broken my mother's heart in refusing it to her; but you shall have the dress."

Constance threw both arms around his neck, and laughed lightly through the tears that sprang to her eyes at the sight of his depression.

"Never mind it, dear! Give the money to your mother, I will do without it."

"And stay at home from the ball? Will you do that for me, Constance?"

"Oh! that is asking too much; but father must give me money, or I will wear that old silk that rattles like dead grass, and be content, so that you look happy again."

"Will you, and willingly? Oh, Constance! how unjust I have been! What elements of nobility lie under all this childishness. You make me ashamed of my anger."

Sterling took her in his arms in a passion of tender remorse, and begged her to forgive him over and over again. Now Constance had the elements of a great actress in her composition, and accepted the situation as if her generosity had been real; though she felt the notes rustle in her bosom close to his beating heart, and knew how false were all her claims to his gratitude—this idea of her self-sacrifice was not the less real to her. She blushed under it, and offered her mouth to his kisses, half bashfully, as if shrinking from too much display of her own goodness, exactly as an actress in the part might have done.

"And you have done all this for me?" whispered the young husband, gratefully.

"Who else could I do it for? Your mother, I have never seen her—not lady enough for that as yet, I suppose. But never mind, the time will come."

"Yes, child, the time will come when she will love you dearly, and know your worth as I do."

"Oh! I can wait!"

The girl could not resist that little toss of the head when Sterling's mother was spoken of; for, without knowing the poor lady, she had been mortified and angered by the young man's reluctance to make that mother the confidant of his marriage. It was a personal slight which she brooded over more than he thought possible.

"It shall not be for long," said Sterling, giving her a farewell kiss. "I am so proud of you, Constance, and love you so dearly, that we must soon become a united family. Let my poor mother get over her present troubles a little, and she shall know all."

Sterling took up his hat as if preparing to go out.

"What, are you leaving me so soon?" said Constance, with well simulated surprise.

"Yes, I must carry this good news to my mother. Her husband is going out West, and has no means, except such as I can give her, to defray the expenses of his journey. She was in great distress about it, for it seems that Holt has a fair prospect, if he can only get to some land he owns out yonder."

"And will she go with him?"

"Not yet—it is impossible. All the money I can raise will not do more than take him out to his land. She must remain behind."

"Poor lady, I pity her so much! You must go at once."

The voice and manner of this young woman was so kind, that no one could have blamed Sterling for coming back to smooth her rich hair with his hands, and whisper grateful blessings over her before he went to his mother.

Constance stood in the door and watched her husband, with what seemed the most loving interest, till he went down stairs. When he was out of sight, she went back to the parlor, and found Church waiting for her patiently, as if he had been an inmate of the family from her birth up. But just as she was about to renew her conversation with him, her father's step sounded distinctly on the stairs, and she withdrew into the working-chamber again, reluctant to meet him with that secret pressing against her bosom. But she had established a confidence, and shared a secret with that man, which might well have made her tremble, had fear been a passion known to her audacious nature.