"True, I never saw her until that wild, stormy night when I came to you a
weary, dripping traveler and you so kindly extended to me your
hospitality. But I began to love your daughter that very evening. I do not
need to tell you that she is beautiful, for you know it; but to me she
seemed the fairest woman that I had ever seen; her presence moved me as I
had never been moved before, and I felt as if I could hardly go on to join
my friends and leave her. But I suddenly found a pretext for returning
when you mentioned that you desired to dispose of your claim. I resolved
that I would become the purchaser. I would come here and remain to study
the character of your daughter, and if she proved all that I fancied her,
I would strive to win her for my wife. This, my dear sir, is why I am
here; and now--will you give her to me?"

"Have you said anything to Virgie about this?" Mr. Abbot asked, looking
very grave.

"No, sir; I have not breathed a word of my intentions to her; but I
accepted her invitation to tea this evening with the determination to tell
you this, if I could make the opportunity, and ask your sanction to my
suit before speaking to her."

Mr. Abbot looked gratified.

"That was honorable of you," he said. "It meets my estimate of your
character."

"Thank you, sir," Mr. Heath returned, flushing slightly, then continued:
"I am not given much to rhapsody or extravagances of language, but I know
that I can never be a happy man unless I win Virgie, and if you will give