She smoothed the glistening golden hair, and kissed her upon the forehead.
"Aunty, the young man ?" said Hope, in the same tone.
"Was Lawrence Newt," answered Mrs.Simcoe.
-- It was the moment when Abel sat at his desk writing the name that Mrs.
Simcoe had pronounced.
Hope Wayne was perfectly sure it was coming, and yet the word shot out upon her like a tongue of lightning.

At first she felt every nerve in her frame relaxed--a mist clouded her eyes--she had a weary sense of happiness, for she thought she was dying.

The mist passed.

She felt her cheeks glowing, and was preternaturally calm.

Mrs.Simcoe sat beside her, weeping silently.
"Good-night, dearest aunty!" said Hope, as she rose and bent down to kiss her.
"My child!" said the older woman, in tones that trembled out of an aching heart.
Hope took her candle, and moved toward the door.