“But your health won’t bear it, Mary,” he urged.  “Don’t you know that you made yourself sick by your close application in learning your trade?”

“I do, Mr. Martin; but still, you know why I learned my trade.”

Mr. Martin paused for a few moments, and then looking into her face, said—­

“Yes, I know the reason, Mary, and I always admired your noble independence in acting as you did—­nay,” and he took her hand, “If you will permit me to say so, have loved you ever since I had a true appreciation of your character.  May I hope for a return of kindred feelings?”

Mary Turner’s face became instantly crimsoned with burning blushes, but she did not withdraw her hand.  A brief silence ensued, during which the only sounds audible to the ears of each, was the beating of their own hearts.  Martin at length said—­

“Have I aught to hope, Mary?”

“You know, Mr. Martin,” she replied, in a voice that slightly trembled, “that I have duties to perform beyond myself.  However much my feelings may be interested, these cannot be set aside.  Under present circumstances, my hand is not my own to give.”

“But, your duties will become mine, Mary; and most gladly will I assume them.  Only give me your hand, and in return I will give you a home for all you love, and you can do for them just as your heart desires.  Will you now be mine?”

“If my mother object not,” she said, bursting into tears.

Of course, the mother had no objection to urge, and in a few weeks they were married.  It was, perhaps, three months after this event, that the now happy family were seated in a beautifully furnished parlor, large enough to suit even Mrs. Turner’s ideas.  Something had turned their thoughts on the past, and Mary alluded to their sad experience in keeping boarders.

“You did not lose much, did you?” asked her husband.

“We sunk over two thousand dollars,” Mary replied.

“Is it possible!  You paid rather dear, then, for your experience in keeping a boarding house.”

“So I then thought,” Mary answered, looking into his face with a smile, “But I believe it was money well laid out.  What you call a good investment.”

“How so?”

Mary stooped down to the ear of her husband, who sat a little behind her mother, and whispered,

“You are dull, dear—­I got you by it, didn’t I?”

His young wife’s cheek was very convenient, and his lips touched it almost involuntarily.

“What is that, Mary?” asked her mother, turning towards them, for she had heard her remark, and was waiting for the explanation.

“Oh, nothing, mother, it was only some of my fun.”

“You seem quite full of fun, lately,” said Mrs. Turner, with a quiet smile of satisfaction, and again bent her eyes upon the book she was reading.

CHAPTER XXX.

TWO WAYS WITH DOMESTICS.