Long she sat, holding her head with one hand, while the other attempted to use the pen which would not move over the paper.

At length, quickly it flew across the sheet, and a few lines were there for her to peruse.
"Harry Clavering," she had written, "I know I am doing what men and women say no woman should do.

You may, perhaps, say so of me now; but if you do, I know you so well, that I do not fear that others will be able to repeat it.

Harry, I have never loved any one but you.

Will you be my husband?
You well know that I should not make you this offer if I did not intend that everything I have should be yours.