“Don’t grieve, Barbara.  Bright days may be in store for us yet.”

The carriage stopped.

“You may go back,” he said to the servants, when he alighted.  “I shall walk home.”

“Oh,” exclaimed Barbara, “I do think you intend to spend the evening with us?  Mamma will be so pleased.”

Her voice sounded as if she was also.  Mr. Carlyle drew her hand within his arm as they walked up the path.

But Barbara had reckoned without her host.  Mrs. Hare was in bed, consequently could not be pleased at the visit of Mr. Carlyle.  The justice had gone out, and she, feeling tired and not well, thought she would retire to rest.  Barbara stole into her room, but found her asleep, so that it fell to Barbara to entertain Mr. Carlyle.

They stood together before the large pierglass, in front of the blazing fire.  Barbara was thinking over the events of the day.  What Mr. Carlyle was thinking of was best known to himself; his eyes, covered with their drooping eyelids, were cast upon Barbara.  There was a long silence, at length Barbara seemed to feel that his gaze was upon her, and she looked up at him.

“Will you marry me, Barbara?”

The words were spoken in the quietest, most matter-of-fact tone, just as if he had said, “Shall I give you a chair, Barbara?” But, oh!  The change that passed over her countenance!  The sudden light of joy!  The scarlet flush of emotion and happiness.  Then it all faded down to paleness and sadness.

She shook her head in the negative.  “But you are very kind to ask me,” she added in words.

“What is the impediment, Barbara?”

Another rush of color as before and a deep silence.  Mr. Carlyle stole his arm around her and bent his face on a level with hers.

“Whisper it to me, Barbara.”

She burst into a flood of tears.

“Is it because I once married another?”

“No, no.  It is the remembrance of that night—­you cannot have forgotten it, and it is stamped on my brain in letters of fire.  I never thought so to betray myself.  But for what passed that night you would not have asked me now.”

“Barbara!”

She glanced up at him; the tone was so painful.

“Do you know that I love you?  That there is none other in the whole world whom I would care to marry but you?  Nay, Barbara, when happiness is within our reach, let us not throw it away upon a chimera.”

She cried more softly, leaning upon his arm.  “Happiness?  Would it be happiness for you?”

“Great and deep happiness,” he whispered.

She read truth in his countenance, and a sweet smile illumined her sunny features.  Mr. Carlyle read its signs.

“You love me as much as ever, Barbara!”

“Far more, far more,” was the murmured answer, and Mr. Carlyle held her closer, and drew her face fondly to his.  Barbara’s heart was at length at rest, and she had been content to remain where she was forever.