11 p.m.—­I do not much like this scheme, after all.  For one thing, I have just sounded my father on it before parting with him for the night, my impression having been that he would see no objection.  But he says he could on no account countenance any such unreal proceeding; however good our intentions, and even though the poor girl were dying, it would not be right.  So I sadly seek my pillow.

October 1.—­I am sure my father is wrong in his view.  Why is it not right, if it would be balm to Caroline’s wounded soul, and if a real ceremony is absolutely refused by Charles—­moreover is hardly practicable in the difficulty of getting a special licence, if he were agreed?  My father does not know, or will not believe, that Caroline’s attachment has been the cause of her hopeless condition.  But that it is so, and that the form of words would give her inexpressible happiness, I know well; for I whispered tentatively in her ear on such marriages, and the effect was great.  Henceforth my father cannot be taken into confidence on the subject of Caroline.  He does not understand her.

12 o’clock noon.—­I have taken advantage of my father’s absence to-day to confide my secret notion to a thoughtful young man, who called here this morning to speak to my father.  He is the Mr. Theophilus Higham, of whom I have already had occasion to speak—­a Scripture reader in the next town, and is soon going to be ordained.  I told him the pitiable case, and my remedy.  He says ardently that he will assist me—­would do anything for me (he is, in truth, an admirer of mine); he sees no wrong in such an act of charity.  He is coming again to the house this afternoon before my father returns, to carry out the idea.  I have spoken to Charles, who promises to be ready.  I must now break the news to Caroline.

11 o’clock p.m.—­I have been in too much excitement till now to set down the result.  We have accomplished our plan; and though I feel like a guilty sinner, I am glad.  My father, of course, is not to be informed as yet.  Caroline has had a seraphic expression upon her wasted, transparent face ever since.  I should hardly be surprised if it really saved her life even now, and rendered a legitimate union necessary between them.  In that case my father can be informed of the whole proceeding, and in the face of such wonderful success cannot disapprove.  Meanwhile poor Charles has not lost the possibility of taking unworthy me to fill her place should she—.  But I cannot contemplate that alternative unmoved, and will not write it.  Charles left for the South of Europe immediately after the ceremony.  He was in a high-strung, throbbing, almost wild state of mind at first, but grew calmer under my exhortations.  I had to pay the penalty of receiving a farewell kiss from him, which I much regret, considering its meaning; but he took me so unexpectedly, and in a moment was gone.

Oct. 6.—­She certainly is better, and even when she found that Charles had been suddenly obliged to leave, she received the news quite cheerfully.  The doctor says that her apparent improvement may be delusive; but I think our impressing upon her the necessity of keeping what has occurred a secret from papa, and everybody, helps to give her a zest for life.