“Yes, father, go on.”

“Well, I have not much more to say,” he resumed; “I know not Priscilla’s answer, but this I do know, that if your love for her has changed, she might do worse than accept your rival; but I trust such is not the case.”

I could scarcely speak for rage and vexation, to think I had been so befooled by this fellow, and to have given Priscilla cause to think my love for her could possibly change.  I would go to her at once.  But my father bade me sit down and collect myself, and calmly talk the matter over with him.

“Leave this affair to me, my boy, and join your mother and friend.”

I did so, but with an awful feeling of doubt at my heart.  In half an hour my father entered the room, and reassured me with a quiet smile and nod, which was of great comfort to me.

Another half hour went by, and then a rustling at the door made me tremble with anticipation and doubt, for something told me it was Priscilla.  The handle turned, and as I held out both my hands to greet her, for it was she, she bounded forward with a cry of joy, and fell fainting into my arms.

Here was a denoument.  I gently laid her inanimate form on the couch, and was immediately hustled out of the room by the combined force of my mother and our old domestic, Ellen, and not allowed to return for a time, which to my fevered mind seemed an age, but which the clock pronounced to be twenty minutes only.

This time Priscilla came coyly to my arms, and I then knew all was well between us, especially when she turned me round with,

“Dear old Harry! come to the light, you great brown giant, and look me in the face.  Ah!” said she, as Alec obligingly held up the lamp that she might get a full view of me, “I can read truth in those bonny brown eyes, but you are a cruel fellow, or why did you not answer my letters?  You bad boy!”

“Sit down, Priscilla,” and I quietly took her hands in mine, and drew her down beside me on the couch.

“Now, Miss Fortune Teller! what letters do you refer to?”

“Two that I sent you, one in June and the other only five weeks since, at the beginning of August.”

“Believe me, Priscilla, I have never received them, and did not know of your writing to me till my father informed me of it, but an hour since.  Where did you write them?”

“Here, Harry, in this very room.”

“And who posted them, did you do so yourself?”

“No, your father posted the first, and Ellen the other.”

“No,” interposed my father, “I recollect young Johnson called in directly you left, and seeing the letter in my hand, said he was going up to the village, and would post it for me, so I gave it to him.”

Just then Ellen entered with glasses and decanters, and it suddenly struck me to interrogate her on the subject.

“Ellen, do you remember posting a letter to me, about a month ago, that Miss Grant gave you?”