CONSTANCE PARTS WITH HER HUSBAND.

The next morning Constance went to the railroad station with her husband. She was very pale and still; sometimes a shiver ran through her frame as he tried to speak hopefully of the future. When he drew her toward him in the carriage and pressed his trembling lips to hers, the kiss she gave back was almost a sob. But even at the last moment she shed no tears, and her face kept its immovable whiteness. He left her in the carriage leaning against its cushions, her face contracted, her lips pressed together, and her hands clenched, as if a desire to cry out were torturing her.

"God bless you, darling!"

He strained her to his heart, left kisses on her forehead, her lips, and the thick waves of her hair. One long curl fell upon her shoulder, and his lips wandered down to that.

"Give it to me. Oh, Constance! let me have that much!"

She took a penknife from her pocket, cut the thick tress of hair from her head, and placed it in his outstretched hand, where it coiled in a soft and glittering ring, which his fingers could scarcely close over without crushing.

"Take it," she said, in a strange, deep voice, which seemed that of another person. "But some time—some time——"

"Constance, my poor darling! how white you are! How you shiver, and I cannot stay to comfort you. One look—one more kiss. Now God bless you! God bless you, my wife!"

He sprang out of the carriage, and rushed into the crowd that hurried by them to the office. She saw him enter, and come forth again. He looked that way; and then, as if his last glance had broken her heart, she sent a wild cry after him—so wild and broken, that it must have called him back, but for the rumble and roar of the engine, which seized upon and carried all other sounds into its own. Then the sharp clang of a bell, the slow movement of the train sweeping out of the depot, and Constance drew back from the window, out of which she had been wildly leaning, and fell into the seat moaning piteously.

"He is gone! He is gone! and I did love him! Oh! I did love him!"

The carriage bore her homeward, and still she cried out in her pain, reviling herself for a hard-hearted, cruel girl, who deserved no good, and who was sure to be punished for the cruel thing she had done. Hudson met her at the door. He, too, was much disturbed, and looked into her face compassionately as she passed him.

She did not notice his outstretched hand, or the look of commiseration that accompanied it, but flew up the stairs like a lapwing, entered her own room, and locked the door.

Two weeks from that night Church again made his appearance. He had a long, and it would seem rather stormy talk with Hudson, from which that enslaved man came out apparently submissive. One thing he said just as Church was taking leave, which made that bad man less secure than usual.

"I will speak to her," these were the words, "speak to her honestly, and if possible learn what her feelings are. If she is willing—if she does not love the young fellow who has left us in such strange haste, I will not interpose. But she must do this of her own free will, and without undue persuasion even, or I never will permit her to become your wife—not if all the choice you leave me is that or a prison."

Church laughed, but closed the door softly that no one might hear; and for a long time his low, silky voice fell upon the atmosphere like the hum of drowsy bees. Then the door was opened again, and Mr. Hudson, looking white and anxious, called to Rhoda Weeks, who was sweeping the stairs.

"Oh, yes! I will call Constance," she said, resting her broom against the wall. "She's up in my room."

When Rhoda told Constance that Mr. Church was below and wanted to see her, the girl seemed struck with some shock of the nerves. The needle-work she was doing fell to her lap, and she looked about as if seeking some means of escape. But directly all this passed away. She took two or three resolute stitches, folded up her work with great deliberation, smoothed her hair before Rhoda's tiny looking-glass, and went down, stepping firmer and heavier than Rhoda had ever known her to do before.

Constance entered the room where Church was sitting with her father. He came to meet her with something like self-distrust in his manner. She received him calmly, and with no visible repugnance, if she felt any. Hudson looked on with searching scrutiny. There was no soft flutter, no gentle embarrassment—nothing that bespoke affection or interest in her manner. Of the two, he was the most embarrassed.

Constance seated herself on the sofa, and seemed to be waiting.

"You sent for me, father?"

"Yes, Constance. Mr. Church—but, perhaps, you know what has brought Mr. Church here so often of late?"

"Yes, father, I think so. He has a fancy that you are tired of me, and is ready to take me off your hands."

"Then he has told you this?"

"Yes, father."

"And you permit it?"

"Why not? He is your friend. Any man may wish a thing, and say so."

"But tell me, Constance, do you love him?"

"Oh, father! I am ashamed of you. _He_ had better ask that."

She did not change color, or even affect embarrassment. Her voice was clear and ringing, her air wonderfully self-possessed.

"But I have asked it," said Church, drawing close to her; "and have waited for the answer as condemned men wait for pardon."

Constance drew back, and replied in her usual tone, though he had spoken low and rapidly.

"When I know my own mind, Mr. Church, you shall be the first to hear it."

"Then you have not made up your mind, daughter? You have not authorized him to say what he has?" Hudson broke in, eagerly.

"What has he been saying, father?"

"That you are willing to marry him!"

"Well, he is a little fast there. I never said that."

"Never said that, Miss Hudson? Surely, you have forgotten."

Church had left his chair, and was pacing up and down the room. The cool composure of the girl irritated him. In asking this question he turned sharply upon her.

"Well, perhaps, one does not remember every light word or promise; but, no matter what I have said or forgotten, my father thinks you wish to marry me, and fears that I may be persuaded to marry you; the idea isn't pleasant to him, I can see that."

Church darted an angry look at Hudson, who turned pale, but still kept his eyes resolutely fixed on Constance.

"Father," said the girl, "why is it that you oppose Mr. Church?"

"You do not care for him?" was the confused answer.

"Oh! yes, I do!"

"Constance!"

"Indeed, I do, father! Just a little."

"What, love this man?"

"Love! Oh! as for that, the less said the better. He doesn't expect too much affection. Elderly people should be reasonable, you know."

"Constance, be serious."

"Father, I am."

"And you wish to marry this man?"

"I mean to marry him some day—that is, if he waits long enough."

"Are you content, my good friend?" demanded Church. "Does this satisfy you that the young lady needs neither coercion or much persuasion? Surely she must be supposed to know her own mind."

"I have done," said Hudson, heaving a deep sigh. "God knows I was ready to dare every thing rather than see her sacrificed; but if she wills it, I can make no farther opposition. God help the poor child!"

"This terrible emotion is hardly complimentary," said Church, seating himself by Constance. "Now, as the main question is settled, let us fix a time. I have been waiting very patiently, and should be rewarded."

Before Hudson could speak Constance broke in,

"As to that, Mr. Church, we must let you exercise one of the virtues a little longer, if it is only for the novelty. I do not intend to be married to any one just yet. My education is not completed, you know."

Church seized her hand.

"You will not insist on delay," he said. "Do not be so cruel."

She threw back his hand with a light laugh.

"My father is not prepared to do without me yet. Be content with what I have promised. I will not take another step at present, and will marry no man until he need not be ashamed of an uneducated wife."

"Oh! we will change all this," said Church, whispering in Hudson's ear. "You mean to baffle me with delay; but I will not bear it. Make the time brief, or you may be placed beyond the power of interference."