“Let me talk to her now, Alice, won’t you?  Delays are only cowardly.”

A slight trembling at my side,—­an instant of silence that seemed an hour, yet within which I could count but six footfalls, and Alice replied:—­

“Yes; if the parlor happens to be empty, I’ll ask her if she won’t go in and see you a moment.”  Then there came a look full of tenderness, wonder, painful solicitude, and then two dear eyes filled with tears.

“We’re nearly there, darling,” said I, with a reassuring embrace.

“Yes, and you sha’n’t be the only hero,” said she, straightening herself proudly, and looking a fit model for a Cenobia.

As we passed from behind a clump of evergreens which hid the house from our view, I involuntarily exclaimed, “Gracious!” Upon the piazza stood Mrs. Mayton; at her side stood my two nephews, as dirty in face, in clothing, as I had ever seen them.  I don’t know but that for a moment I freely forgave them, for their presence might grant me the respite which a sense of duty would not allow me to take.

“Wezhe comed up to wide home wif you,” exclaimed Toddie, as Mrs. Mayton greeted me with an odd mixture of courtesy, curiosity and humor.  Alice led the way into the parlor whispered to her mother, and commenced to make a rapid exit, when Mrs. Mayton called her back, and motioned her to a chair.  Alice and I exchanged sidelong glances.

“Alice says you wish to speak with me, Mr. Burton,” said she.  “I wonder whether the subject is one upon which I have this afternoon received a minute verbal account from the elder Master Lawrence.”

“If you refer to an apparently unwarrantable intrusion upon your family circle, Mrs.—­”

“I do, sir,” replied the old lady.  “Between the statements made by that child, and the hitherto unaccountable change in my daughter’s looks during two or three days, I think I have got at the truth of the matter.  If the offender were any one else, I should be inclined to be severe; but we mothers of only daughters are apt to have a pretty distinct idea of the merits of young men, and—­”

The old lady dropped her head; I sprang to my feet, seized her hand, and reverently kissed it; then Mrs. Mayton, whose only son had died fifteen years before, raised her head and adopted me in the manner peculiar to mothers, while Alice burst into tears and kissed us both.

A few moments later, as three happy people were occupying conventional attitudes, and trying to compose faces which should bear the inspection of whoever might happen into the parlor, Mrs. Mayton observed:—­

“My children, between us this matter is understood, but I must caution you against acting in such a way as to make the engagement public at once.”

“Trust me for that,” hastily exclaimed Alice.

“And me,” said I.

“I have no doubt of the intentions and discretion of either of you,” resumed Mrs. Mayton, “but you cannot possibly be too cautious.”  Here a loud laugh from the shrubbery under the windows drowned Mrs. Mayton’s voice for a moment, but she continued:  “Servants, children,”—­here she smiled, and I dropped my head—­ “persons you may chance to meet—­”