"Perhaps I may set him up in business myself," he wrote. "At all

events, dear Maude, you need not dim the brightness of your eyes by

tears, for all will yet be well. Next June shall see you a bride,

unless your intended husband refuse my offer, in which case I may

divine something better."

"Noble man," was Maude's exclamation, as she finished reading the

letter, and if at that moment the two cousins rose up in contrast

before her mind, who can blame her for awarding the preference to

him who had penned those lines, and who thus kindly strove to remove

from her pathway every obstacle to her happiness.

James De Vere was indeed a noble-hearted man. Generous, kind, and

self-denying, he found his chief pleasure in doing others good, and

he had written both to Maude and J.C. just as the great kindness of

his heart had prompted him to write. He did not then know that he

loved Maude Remington, for he had never fully analyzed the nature of

his feelings toward her. He knew he admired her very much, and when

he wrote the note J.C. withheld he said to himself, "If she answers

this, I shall write again--and again, and maybe"--he did not exactly

know what lay beyond the "maybe," so he added, "we shall be very

good friends."

But the note was not answered, and when his cousin's letter came,

telling him of the engagement, a sharp, quick pang shot through his

heart, eliciting from him a faint outcry, which caused his mother,

who was present, to ask what was the matter.

"Only a sudden pain," he answered, laying his hand upon his side.

"Pleurisy, perhaps," the practical mother rejoined, and supposing

she was right he placed the letter in his pocket and went out into

the open air. It had grown uncomfortably warm, he thought, while the

noise of the falling fountain in the garden made his head ache as it

had never ached before; and returning to the house he sought his

pleasant library. But not a volume in all those crowded shelves had

power to interest him then, and with a strange disquiet he wandered

from room to room, until at last, as the sun went down, he laid his

throbbing temples upon his pillow, and in his feverish dreams saw

again the dark-eyed Maude sitting on her mother's grave, her face

upturned to him, and on her lip the smile that formed her greatest

beauty.

The next morning the headache was gone, and with a steady hand he

wrote to his cousin and Maude congratulations which he believed

sincere. That J.C. was not worthy of the maiden he greatly feared,

and he resolved to have a care of the young man, and try to make him

what Maude's husband ought to be, and when he heard of her

misfortune he stepped forward with his generous offer, which J.C.

instantly refused.




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