GILLIAN.
237
itead in a week or two if—if I thought father
would have no objection.
“‘ Objections! What objection oould my father have to Mr. Bentley, whose conduct toward him and his had been more than kind? Surely he might expect to be made welcome in a house that was almost his own/
“'Yes,’ said Sarah, turning her face toward the sunset, though I could see a smile quivering on her lip, ‘but—but Mr. Bentley wants to take me away with him; he thinks now that he loves me well enough for that!’
“I was rejoiced, and gave my-horses a triumphant crack of the whip, that sent them off on a run. I knew well enough that Sarah was no fit wife for any of the young fellows in our neighborhood. Her high spirits, her wit, and the bright thoughts that made every one admire her, were not gifts to be buried on a farm, nor drudged into tameness by hard work. I had knowledge of the world and sense enough to know that, if I had been brought up in the country. It would have been like forcing a canary bird to dive for its food like a fish hawk. But this was another affair. Your father was the man of all I had ever seen for the husband of a gal like our Sarah, with a college educa¬ tion, an honest, strong mind, as handsome a figure as you see in a day’s walk, and any amount of property—where could another man be found like him? Yet I felt that Sarah was his match every inch of it: her virtues were home virtues, and her studies home studies, but genuine for all that; even he could talk on but few subjects that Sarah did not know something about: and as for manners, if ever there was a born lady it was my sister Sarah, if I do say it.
Sarah was delighted to see how I took her news, and told me in her old, frank way how she had loved Mr. Bentley long before she was quite certain that he cared for her—how he had almost proposed while she was with her aunt, but had been checked off when they went to the Long Island shore, without telling him a word about it, and seemed to have given her up with¬ out a struggle; but in her late visit she had met him by accident in the street, they had walked a long way together, she could not tell how or where, for it seemed like heaven to her, for he was telling her of his love—his disappointment at her sudden departure, which he looked upon aa a rebuff, and of the bright hopes that he could scarcely believe real, though she had lis¬ tened to him with so much patience. ‘It was nil like a dream, a sweet, bright dream,’ she said, ‘but real, beautifully real, though sho never could believe it, never/
“It was pleasant to hear her talk so gently
of her love, and to see the color come and go in
her face with every look I gave it. I do believe
that day she was the happiest creature on earth.
She exclaimed at the beauty of everything, the
old apple trees with their scraggy branches, the
patches of moss on the wayside and the sunset.
‘It certainly was,’ she said, ‘the most heavenly
sunset that ever she saw in her life/ To me it
was a bank of yellow and red olouds piled up
and heaped against each other, with streaks of
purple and flame-color breaking through; but
she saw a thousand other bright things, as
people who write poetry and love dreams are
sure to do.
“I told the old folks of the news, and Sarah told Hetty, who chirped up like a bird for two or three days, and hovered around her sister in a quiet flutter of happiness, like a robin when its mate is on the nest.
“The old gentleman took everything that came in his way as a matter x>f course. Nothing could arouse his pride, for he held things that turn the heads of most people at their due worth.
“‘Bentley is an honest man,’ he said, ‘and Sarah is a good, bright gal, they’ll make a couple that we needn’t be ashamed of, Dan, you may be sure of that.
“I was satisfied. When my father pronounced any one an honest man, praise had no higher term for him. His pride of integrity was won¬ derful, he acknowledged no superiority but that of goodness and industry, but there he was un¬ yielding: a want of integrity the old man never could forgive. I think that an absolutely wrong act in one of his family would have broken his heart. He was the proudest man I ever saw, and the meekest too.
“His children all knew this, and respected him accordingly. My sisters above all had great reverence for this trait of character, and dreaded his disapprobation above all things. Observe me, father was not a cross nor severe man, only a downright honest one, whose good character was the life of his life.
“Of course a man like this could rejoice in his daughter’s prosperity in marrying a man like your father, for he knew the full value of property, and was glad to get it in the family; but it was the intelligence and sterling goodness of Mr. Bentley that touched the old man nearest. Had these been wanting, property and position would have gone for nothing with a man of your grandfather’s stamp.
“Well, the time came. Bentley asked the old man’s consent in person, and with a few kind,
