And what a change these mutual confessions made in both their minds!  Doubt was gone; they were beloved; oh, richest treasure of joy!  Fear was gone; they dared declare their love; oh, purest river of all sublunary pleasures!  No longer pale, anxious, thoughtful, worn by the corroding care of “Does she—­does she love?”—­Charles was, from that moment, a buoyant, cheerful, exhilarated being—­a new character; he put on manliness, and fortitude, and somewhat of involuntary pride; whilst Emily felt, that enriched by the affections of him whom she regarded as her wisest, kindest earthly friend, by the acquisition of his love, who had led her heart to higher good than this world at its best can give her, she was elevated and ennobled from the simple Indian child, into the loved and honoured Christian woman.  They went on that important walk to Oxton feeble, divided, unsatisfied in heart:  they returned as two united spirits, one in faith, one in hope, one in love; both heavenly and earthly.

But the happy hour is past too soon; and, home again, they mixed once more with those conflicting elements of hatred and contention.

“Emily,” asked the general, in a very unusual stretch of curiosity, “where have you been to with Charles Tracy?  You look flushed, my dear; what’s the matter?”

Of course “nothing” was the matter:  and the general was answered wisely, for love was nothing in his average estimate of men and women.

“Charles, what can have come to you?  I never saw you look so happy in my life,” was the mother’s troublesome inquiry; “why, our staid youth positively looks cheerful.”

Charles’s walk had refreshed him, taken away his head-ache, put him in spirits, and all manner of glib reasons for rejoicing.

“You were right, Julian,” whispered Mrs. Tracy, “and we’ll soon put the stopper on all this sort of thing.”

So, then, the moment our guiltless pair of lovers had severally stolen away to their own rooms, there to feast on well-remembered looks, and words, and hopes—­there to lay before that heavenly Friend, whom both had learned to trust, all their present joys, as aforetime all their cares—­Mrs. Tracy looked significantly at Julian, and thus addressed her ever stern-eyed lord: 

“So, general, the old song’s coming true to us, I find, as to other folks, who once were young together: 

  “’And when with envy Time, transported, seeks to rob us of our joys,
  You’ll in your girls again be courted, and I’ll go wooing in my boys.’”

So said or sung the flighty Mrs. Tracy.  It was as simple and innocent a quotation as could possibly be made; I suppose most couples, who ever heard the stanza, and have grown-up children, have thought upon its dear domestic beauty:  but it strangely affected the irascible old general.  He fumed and frowned, and looked the picture of horror; then, with a fierce oath at his wife and sons, he firmly said—­