But she could not answer him then; she simply laid her cheek against his shoulder and wept bitterly.  But she did tell him all presently; and he told her what he had long since wished to tell, and they walked together to the old farm, for, of course, Nancy must return to her parents for a little time—­only a very little time, they decided.  When they reached the farm, John Forest and his wife were standing by the round table in the house-place, where the half-sovereign lay.  John was hard and relentless; his wife was sobbing aloud.  And then the door opened, and Nancy and Fred stood before them.

With a wild cry, Eliza Forest clasped her daughter to her heart, imploring her forgiveness.  “My temper ‘welly’ worried me this time, Nancy,” she said; “but after this I will worry it.”

So here the story properly ends, for Mr. Hurst, to the surprise of everyone, yielded a ready consent to the marriage, and even offered an allowance to the young couple and one of his small farms to live in.  Miss Sabina allowed her old interest in Nancy to revive, and sent her the material for her wedding dress, which Miss Michin announced her intention of making up herself—­every stitch.  Nor was this all.  Mrs. Dodd, the worthy post-mistress, with whom Nancy had always been a favourite, begged her acceptance of a prettily-furnished work-basket which she had made a journey to Exboro’ to buy.

And the half-sovereign?

It was never spent, but was always in sight under a wine-glass, to remind the owner—­so she said—­“of how her temper nearly worried her.”

JEANIE GWYNNE BETTANY.

PAUL.

BY THE AUTHOR OF “ADONAIS, Q.C.”

It was a great surprise and disappointment to me when Janet, the only child of my brother, Duncan Wright, wrote announcing her engagement to the Honourable Stephen Vandeleur.

I had always thought she would marry Paul.  Paul was the only surviving son—­four others had died—­of my dead brother Alexander, and had made one of Duncan’s household from his boyhood.  I had always loved Janet—­and Paul was as the apple of my eye.  When the two were mere children, and Duncan was still in comparatively humble circumstances, living in a semi-detached villa in the suburbs of Glasgow, I kept my brother’s house for some years, he being then a widower.

I cannot say I altogether liked doing so.  Having independent means of my own, I did not require to fill such a position, and I had never got on very well with Duncan.  However, I dearly loved the children, although I had enough to do with them, too.  Janet was one of the prettiest, merriest, laughing little creatures—­with eyes the colour of the sea in summer-time, and a complexion like a wild-rose—­the sun ever shed its light upon; but she had a most distressing way of tearing her frocks and of never looking tidy, which Duncan seemed to think entirely my fault; and as for Paul, he certainly was a most awful boy.