'Twas her picture he was gazing at, and a little ring and two locks of hair--one a brown ringlet from her head, and one--such a tiny wisp of down--from the head of her infant.

I told him to keep them always and look at them often, remembering how innocent she had been, and that she had died for him.

There were tears on my hand when he kissed it in thanking me.

He kept the little package in his desk, and I have brought it to him." The miniature was of a sweet-faced girl with large loving childish eyes, and cheeks that blushed like the early morning.

Clorinda looked at her almost with tenderness.
"There is no marrying or giving in marriage, 'tis said," quoth she; "but were there, 'tis you who were his wife--not I.