“Ten thousand pounds!  In one year too!  And at the same time punctually fulfilling every duty as clerk.  Mr. Melville, you are the paragon of clerks.  With your genius and energy you will soon be among the wealthiest in the country.  You have now a fortune of your own.  I have long wanted a partner in my business, for I am growing old.  You can enter without feeling any great inferiority.  Will you do so?”

“You are overwhelming me with kindness,” said Melville, in a faltering voice.  “How can I ever repay you?  To be in partnership with you, is such a grateful thing to me that I can never thank you enough.”

“O there is no need of thanks.  I am happy to do this.  One like you, I may say without flattery, can very rarely be found.  But how very strange is the fate which threw you in my way!  What wonderful circumstances!  A servant in my family!  A gentleman like you to be a servant?  What led you to it?  Surely you could have gained a living in a less unpleasant way.”

“It has turned out my blessing,” said Melville.

In the evening, Melville, the new made partner sat alone with Emily in the parlor.  It was dark, and the heavy curtains which hung before the window increased the gloom.  The moon’s rays entered and fell softly upon the floor.

“What a strange life yours has been,” said Emily.

“Yes.  Do you remember when you saw me first?”

“Well-I always shall remember it-the young confectioner with his box of candy.”

“I will bless that box of candy forever.”

“I have often wondered why you became a servant.”

“Ah, why should you wonder?  Emily, can you not guess?  Would any light cause make me do it?”

She was silent.

“Blessed be the day when I became a menial.  I saved you from death through that.  O, do you ask what made me?  A light had beamed across my path.  I had seen you, Emily.”

Still no reply.

“I would have done anything.  To see you daily-to be near you-to hear your voice.  O, it was joy to me such as I cannot describe.  And I thought at times that you looked kindly at me—­that you saw through my motive-that you-yes, Emily, that you even cared something for me.  Did you not, Emily?  Did you not?”

A low reply sounded gently in his ears: 

“Yes, Henry.”

“Emily, my own Emily.  Would you call it presumption in me if I told you that I loved you?  You know it already; you must know it.  Can I hope, dearest Emily?”

A low reply again came, which sent a thrill of rapture to the heart of Melville.  He wound his arms lovingly around the happy Emily, and—­

“Halloo, what are you two people doing over there in the corner?” said the voice of Mr. Inglis, half suffocated with laughter.  “Fine doings-hem.  Speak up, sir.  What is this.”

Melville with his arm around the waist of Emily, and her hand in his, walked up to Mr. Inglis.