her face, and to linger hour after hour upon the melody which, flowing from her fair lips, had so long charmed, bewildered him!  To be shut out for ever from the joy that had become a part of him, with which, already in his dreams, he had connected all that remained to him as yet of life!—­It is true, James Mildred was old enough to be sweet Margaret’s father; but for his heart, with all its throbbings and anxieties, it might have been the young girl’s younger brother’s.  A lucky moment was it for Mildred, when he thought of seeking counsel from the straightforward and plain-speaking officer.  A hint sufficed to make the parent wise, and to draw from him the blunt assurance, that Mildred was a son-in-law to make a father proud and happy.  “I never liked, my friend, superfluous words,” said he; “you have my consent, mind that, when you have settled matters with the lass.”

It was a very few hours after the above words were spoken, that, either by design or chance, Mildred and Margaret found themselves together.  The lieutenant and his younger daughter were from home, and Margaret was seated in the family parlour, engaged in profitable work, as usual.  Upon entering the room, the lover saw immediately that Graham had committed him.  His easy and accustomed step had never called a blush into the maiden’s cheek.  Wherefore should it now?  He felt the coming and the dreaded crisis already near, and that his fate was hanging on her lips.  His heart fluttered, and he became slightly perturbed; but he sat down manfully; determined to await the issue.  Margaret welcomed him with more restraint than was her wont, but not—­he thought and hoped—­less cordially.  Maidens are wilful and perverse.  Why should she hold her head down, as she had never done before?  Why strain her eyes upon her work, and ply her needle as though her life depended on the haste with which she wrought?  Thus might she receive a foe; better treatment surely merited so good a friend?

“Miss Graham,” said at length the resolute yet timid man, “do I judge rightly?  Your father has communicated to you our morning’s conversation?”

“He has, sir,” answered Margaret too softly for any but a lover’s ear.

“Then, pardon me, dear lady,” continued Mildred, gaining confidence, as he was bound to do, “if I presume to add all that a simple and an honest man can proffer to the woman he adores.  I am too old—­that is to say, I have seen too much of life, perhaps, to be able to address you now in language that is fitting.  But, believe me, dear Miss Graham, I am sensible of your charms, I esteem your character, I love you ardently.  I am aware of my presumption.  I am bold to approach you as a suitor; but my happiness depends upon your word and I beg you to pronounce it.  Dismiss me, and I will trouble you no longer.  I will endeavour to forget you—­to forget that I beheld you—­that I ever nourished a passion which has made life sweeter to me than I believed it could become; but if, on the other hand”—­