Before Algernon reached the humble abode that contained his earthly treasure, his buoyant mind had decided upon the best course to pursue.  The sale of his mother’s jewels would purchase a commission in the East India Company’s service.  To India, therefore, he determined to go; and he flattered himself that, before the expiration of ten years, he would return with an independent fortune to claim his bride.  It was a long period in perspective, but Elinor was in the early bloom of youth, and her charms would scarcely have reached maturity when he hoped again to revisit his native land.  The bitterest pang was yet to come.  He must inform her of his father’s unjust bequeathment of all his property to his brother, and of his own determination to seek his fortune in the East.  He must bid the idol of his soul adieu, for a period which, to the imagination of a lover, almost involved eternity.  Alas for the fond hearts and the warm hopes of youth!  How could they bear the annihilation of all the delightful anticipations which they had formed of future enjoyment?

Elinor had not seen Algernon since his return to the Hall.  She ran down the little path which led to the road to meet him, and the next moment was in his arms.  Algernon could not restrain his feelings as he clasped her to his heart; he burst into tears.

“You have had a great loss, my Algernon; I will not chide these tears.  The death of a kind parent leaves an awful blank in our existence, a wound which time alone can heal.”

“His death, Elinor, has not cost me a single tear.”

“Then why this grief?”

“We must part.”

“Algernon!” Elinor stepped back, and looked at her lover with death-pale cheeks and expanded eyes.  “Part!”

“Yes, but not for ever, I hope.  But for a long, long period of time; so long, that hope dies in my heart while naming it.”

“But why is this, Algernon?  Your father’s death, you always told me, would remove the only obstacle to—­to—­” Her voice failed her.  She buried her face in her apron, and wept.

“Yes, dearest; that was, provided he left me the means to support a wife.  He has not done so.  He has left all to my brother—­and I am destitute.”

“Good Heaven!  And this is my doing.  Oh, Algernon.  What have you not lost on my account!”

“We will not think of that now, love,” said Algernon, growing calmer now the worst had been told; “I came to pour into your faithful heart all my sorrows, and to tell you my plans for the future.”

“Algernon,” said Elinor, gravely, after remaining for some time in deep thought, “your attachment to me has overwhelmed you with misfortunes.  Comply with your father’s wishes—­resign your engagement to me, and your brother will, in all probability, restore to you the property you have lost.”

“And would you wish me to be under obligations to him?  Is not this his work?  Elinor, I would rather enlist as a common soldier, than live in affluence, and he my benefactor.  But I am poor now, and my love may have become valueless in your eyes,” and he turned his fine eyes, moist with tears, reproachfully on his beautiful mistress.