Oh, how glad I felt!  From the depths of my spirit rose so strong and full the tide of feeling that told me one love was perfect, and it cast out fear.

I said:  “Louis, let us wait.  Do not look at the dreadful letter now, it will mar this pleasant picture which rests me so, and I have been tired too long.  I hope I may never again have to say to myself, ’Emily did it,’ or its companion sentence, ‘Poor Emily did not do it.’  Let me breathe a little first, for I shall be again wrought up.”

“Perhaps not,” said Louis.

“Oh!  I must be, it cannot be avoided, there is a dark passage through which we must pass, but if we go together it will not be so hard.”

“As you say, my Emily,” and at that moment Clara entered.

“Come in, little mother,” said Louis, “come in and seal my title for your royal cousin with a motherly kiss, for she has promised to be my wife—­my Emily through time.”

And she glided toward us, kissed my forehead tenderly, and then taking a hand of each in one of hers, she turned her eyes upward and said: 

“Father, bless my children; they were made for each other.  May their lives and love continue, ever as thine, through endless time.  Let our hearts be united and thy will be ours,” and she knelt on the floor at our feet, her head resting in my lap, and her hand in Louis’, whose face was radiant with the thoughts which sought expression in his features.  I marvelled, as I looked on his beauty, that plain Emily Minot could have become so dear to him.

The thought of father’s fear, too, came over me, and while we were thus in thoughtful silence, the old corner clock gave warning of the supper hour being near, and I said: 

“The supper I must see to, Louis.”

He smiled and said: 

“My Emily can get supper, I know, for she makes both bread and butter, and is loyal to her calling ever, as to her lover.”

Mr. Benton looked sharply at me during the meal, and it seemed to me as if my eyes betrayed the thought which, filled my heart.  Aunt Hildy had returned from her errand of mercy, and she said it was “nervous rheumatiz.”

“Poor creature, she’s broke down with her hard work.”

“Perhaps she’ll marry that old fellow, Mat Jones,” said Mr. Benton.  “He’d make a good husband if she isn’t too particular,” and he laughed as if he thought his remark suggestive of great cunning.  No one gave it even a smile.  He did not like Matthias, and often spoke slurringly of him.  This was strange, for I could see no harm coming to him from this harmless soul who was good and true and faithful as the sun.  He was to us the very help we needed, and father could entrust the care of his work to him whenever he desired to rest a day, or it was necessary for him to be absent from home.  This was no small consideration, and well appreciated by those who knew what the care and work of life on a farm meant.  Mr. Benton’s remark called forth from Louis after a time one concerning the great evil of slavery.