I am afraid this strain of talk was not at all favorable to the strength and persistence of Charlton’s resolution, which, indeed, was by this time sadly weakened.

After they had spent an hour upon the knoll looking out upon the lake, and talking of the past, and diligently avoiding all mention of the future, Charlton summoned courage to allude to his departure in a voice more full of love than of resolve.

“Why do you go, Albert?” Isa said, looking down and breaking a weed with the toe of her boot.  They had called each other by their Christian names during the whole interview.

“Simply for the sake of your happiness, Isa.  It makes me miserable enough, I am sure.”  Charlton spoke as pathetically as he could.

“But suppose I tell you that your going will make me as wretched as it can make you.  What then?”

“How?  It certainly would be unmanly for me to ask you to share my disgrace.  A poor way of showing my love.  I love you well enough to do anything in the world to make you happy.”

Isa looked down a moment and began to speak, but stopped.

“Well, what?” said Albert.

“May I decide what will make me happy?  Am I capable of judging?”

Albert looked foolish, and said, “Yes,” with some eagerness.  He was more than ever willing to have somebody else decide for him.

“Then I tell you, Albert, that if you go away you will sacrifice my happiness along with your own.”

* * * * *

It was a real merry party that met at a petit souper at nine o’clock in the evening in the dining-room of the City Hotel some months later.  There was Lurton, now pastor in Perritaut, who had just given his blessing on the marriage of his friends, and who sat at the head of the table and said grace.  There were Albert and Isabel Charlton, bridegroom and bride.  There was Gray, the Hoosier Poet, with a poem of nine verses for the occasion.

“I’m sorry the stage is late,” said Albert.  “I wanted Jim.”  One likes to have all of one’s best friends on such an occasion.

Just then the coach rattled up to the door, and Albert went out and brought in the Superior Being.

“Now, we are all here,” said Charlton.  “I had to ask Mrs. Ferret, and I was afraid she’d come.”

“Not her!” said Jim.

“Why?”

“She kin do better.”

“How?”

“She staid to meet her beloved.”

“Who’s that?”

“Dave.”  Jim didn’t like to give any more information than would serve to answer a question.  He liked to be pumped.

“Dave Sawney?”

“The same.  He told me to-day as him and the widder owned claims as ’jined, and they’d made up their minds to jine too.  And then he haw-haw’d tell you could a-heerd him a mile.  By the way, it’s the widder that’s let the cat out of the bag.”

“What cat out of what bag?” asked Lurton.