Mr. Miller did not reply directly, but went on, as if speaking to himself, “Oh, Fanny, Fanny, how has my idol fallen!  I never would have believed it, but for such convincing evidence.”

He was indeed sorely disappointed.  He had always thought of Fanny as the embodiment of almost every female virtue, and although she was so young, hope had often whispered to him of a joyous future when she, whom her father designated as “Sunshine,” should also shed a halo of sunlight around another fireside.  But now the illusion was painfully dispelled, for sooner would he have taken the Egyptian asp to his bosom than chosen for a companion one whom he knew to possess a hasty, violent temper.

Next morning he took leave of Mr. Middleton’s family.  When it came Fanny’s turn to bid him good-by, she noticed the absence of his accustomed cordiality, and wondered much what she had done to displease him.  That night she wept herself to sleep thinking of it, while Julia, secretly exulting in her sister’s uneasiness, laughed at her for her foolishness, and said, “It was probably a mere fancy, and even if it were not; what matter was it?  What did she care for Mr. Miller’s good or bad opinion?  She mustn’t expect everybody to pet and caress her just as her father did, who was an old fool anyway, and petted her and her dogs alternately.”  This kind of reasoning did not convince Fanny, and for many days her face wore a sad, troubled expression.

Thus the winter passed away.  Spring came, and with it came an offer to Mr. Wilmot of a very lucrative situation as teacher in a school in Frankfort.  At first he hesitated about accepting it, for there was, in the old rough stone house, an attraction far greater than the mere consideration of dollars and cents.  Julia at, last settled the matter, by requesting him to accept the offer, and then urge her father to let her go to Frankfort to school also.

“And why do you wish to go there, Julia?” said Mr. Wilmot, laying his hand on her dark, glossy hair.

“Because,” she answered, “it will be so lonely here when you are gone.”

“And why will it be lonely, dearest Julia?” continued he.

“Oh,” said she, looking up very innocently in his face, “you are the only person who understands me; by all others, whatever I do or say is construed into something bad.  I wish you were my brother, for then I might have been better than I am.”

“Oh, I do not wish I was your brother,” said Mr. Wilmot, “for then I could never have claimed a dearer title, which I hope now to do at some future time.”

Then followed a declaration of love, which Julia had long waited most anxiously for.  Most eloquently did Mr. Wilmot pour out the whole tide of his affection for the beautiful but sinful girl, who, in a very becoming and appropriate manner, murmured an acknowledgment of requited love.  Thus the two were betrothed.