revolving in his mind for some time past, though he had given no
utterance to his feelings, and now she was about to leave that part of
the country, perhaps for a lengthened period. "If," thought he, "the
Sunday school had Emily at its head, it would materially assist me," and
he felt convinced that the rectory, without a wife to superintend it,
would be, after all, a very lonely place to pass his days in, would she
not consent to undertake the double duties. "I have never spoken to
her," he said musingly, as he paced up and down his study, "but I shall,
when grief for the loss of her parents will allow her to listen to such
a proposal."

On parting with him on the morning of her departure, she was somewhat
embarassed at his altered manner towards her. She could not but notice
his warm pressure of her hand, and his earnestness of manner, when
asking permission to visit her in London.

"My aunt and sister will, I am sure, be always happy to receive you when
in London," she quietly replied, and after a moment's pause, continued:
"I shall likewise still take an interest in the school, and shall be
glad to learn how my little scholars are getting on."

The young rector found it necessary to visit London on several occasions
during the next twelvemonth.

In one of the broad gravelled avenues of Kensington Gardens, slowly
walking beneath the magnificent trees, the soft mossy grass, yellow and
white daisy, bending beneath their footsteps, were two figures,--the one
a gentleman dressed in black, with a white clerical neck-tie, the other
a lady about the medium height, with pretty features, and decidedly
elegant figure, which was set off to advantage by the cut and fit of the